How To Win Friends and Influence Immortals
by FerretKid
Summary: NEW CHAPTER: We'll Always Have Paris. %% Duncan brings three strangers to Methos' doorstep. Does the life of Adam Pierson have to come to an end or is this the beginning of a new experience? The story of a random encounter becoming friendship and how it changes both parties.
1. Not a Good Way to Start

**Disclaimer**: Not my creation, not my ideas. Amy Allan is NOT drawn from Amy Thomas, and is mine. This is all for fun, not even an attempt at profit, kindly don't sue. I promise no characters were harmed in the imagining of this little fic and they will be returned to the shelf in their near-mint condition.

**Note:** Some of you may find parts of this a bit familiar. I am completely re-structuring and re-writing "Stumbling Into" from the ground up. With the world's best Grammar Nazi (Revyrie) ripping into my paragraphs, and Fan Lass arguing about characters (and feeding me funny bits!) until all hours of the night, I hope you will find this improved.

**Reviews:** I'm not thin-skinned! I can take it! I can't read your mind, and I forget you can't read mine through the screen. I won't know if what I hope to be conveyed is if you don't let me know! I love every one of you for reviews - even the tough ones that don't just automatically love me! (Those are the ones that make us grow, you know!) Flames are ignored. Just be constructive!

For those of you who like to match fanfics with canon timeline - this story begins shortly after "Methos" and a decent amount of time before "Finale." Don't hate me for needing to monkey with the timeline a hair. I promise not to blow it up.

Now, on with the show….

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**Not A Good Way to Start**

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**Chance Meetings**  
by David O Whalen  
copyright 2010

Random encounters…  
Chance meetings  
Life changers  
Unexpected greetings

Interrupters of life  
Uncaring guests  
Random encounters  
At their very best

Devices of change  
Creators of strife  
Random encounters are…  
The spice of life

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His morning spent in research 'fixing' his chronicles, Methos was making a quick stop by his flat for lunch before heading to the university for his afternoon class. Steps from his door, he became aware of the tingle working its way up his neck.

_Bloody hell. Years without coming across another Immortal, and now they're everywhere!_

A scan up and down the street didn't show anyone coming or lurking in the surrounding windows, so he unlocked his door and practically jumped inside before the other Immortal would see where he had gone. Coming face-to-face with Duncan MacLeod and a young stranger _inside_ his door, however, had Methos seriously reconsidering his willingness to let the Highlander live to a very old age.

"MacLeod!" The Highlander jumped up with his arms out in apology, eyes wide in innocence. The stranger also stood, but didn't leave the steps as MacLeod had. "I'll… deal with you in a moment." Methos shoved past them, going up the stairs to his bedroom.

He very quickly reappeared at the bottom of the steps to question the two men who stood waiting. "Not that I'm unappreciative, but why is there a naked girl in my bed?"

When the stranger heard this he dashed up the stairs, accidentally pushing Methos into the wall in his haste to get to his sister. With a glare at the young man's back and then at MacLeod's face, Methos went to the kitchen and pulled a beer bottle from his fridge.

"Who are they, MacLeod?"

"That was Paul, upstairs is his sister Amy, and -"

Before Mac could continue, Paul rejoined them, standing slightly behind MacLeod and well out of Methos' reach. "Peter apparently took her clothes and armor off to help with the fever, and she kicked the sheets off," he explained to Mac's raised eyebrows. "Mr. Pierson, I'm very sorry about this..."

"Meth - Adam, I'm sorry, Amy was having some kind of seizure and we were right around the corner, they needed some place to go." Duncan was acutely aware he was asking a lot from a new acquaintance, but in balancing desperate need with possible reactions, letting Paul break in had seemed the better choice. Suddenly, however, he wasn't so sure Methos wouldn't challenge him right then and there.

"How did you get in here?" Methos growled at them. Neither Paul nor Duncan failed to notice his trench coat was still on and his fingers were twitching.

"That was me." Paul was slightly taller than Mac and much more slender, and managed to seem to peek around him, looking decidedly nervous. "I, uh, I'm good with locks. Really, if we hadn't needed to get off the street immediately, we never would have - "

Yet another interruption burst through the door as Peter slammed through and thundered up the stairs, running for his sister's side. "Paul! NOW!"

Methos slammed the beer down on the counter, sloshing the contents over his hand.

"Mac-Leod! What is going here?" He shoved past MacLeod to follow the brothers. Losing control of his own home was intolerable.

"I don't know, but it'll be fine, I'm… sure…" Mac's voice faded away as he and Methos reached the top of the stairs in time to watch.

Paul was sitting on Amy's legs, Peter leaned onto her shoulders. "Seal us!" He reminded his younger brother, who instantly waved his arm in an arc over their heads. Just in time, as sparks and lights danced off her body and burst around them like a Quickening.

Both immortals were blinded by the flashing lights and could feel pressure from winds beating inside the ward Paul had placed around the bed. Still, the brothers held their sister down, though it took all their strength to keep her hovering just above the mattress.

A low sound finally wormed into the Immortals' consciousness just before it raised sharply in pitch and volume. The scream of the dying, heard so often by both men, came from the girl suspended over the bed. As suddenly as if a switch had been thrown, the scream ceased. The siblings dropped, the light show vanished, and the wind was gone, as was the barrier.

Duncan and Methos looked at each other, glanced at the young men taking care of their sister, and decided to move themselves completely out of the way, back to the kitchen.

Methos glared at MacLeod, "When I said 'mi casa es su casa,' this is not what I meant!"

Mac tried to reply, only succeeding in opening and closing his mouth a few times. After all, he had no right and he knew it.

Peter and Paul soon joined MacLeod and Methos downstairs. Both young men had a distinctly gray cast to their skin and their shirts clung to them in damp patches.

"Mr. Pierson, we're very sorry for the intrusion into your life, we really are." Peter held his hand out to Methos, who glared at it until Peter dropped his arm with a tip of his head to acknowledge they were aware of the line they had crossed. "Well, where would you like me to start?"

"You choose. The beginning is usually considered appropriate." Gold lights sparked in his narrowed eyes as he waved them to go ahead of him into the flat and sit down.

"Let me see if I can make this short enough that we won't take up your whole night." Peter considered carefully for a moment, and began. "Think of my sister as a capacitor. Typically, she can draw in and expel energy at will." He knew his explanation sounded unbelievable; even after seven years, he still found it hard to believe some days. "It seems that right now she is unable to control how much she is absorbing and that's causing her to overload but she can't control the release, either. So, we can't stop it, we can't control it, it takes a massive physical toll, and that seems to exacerbate the cycle."

Methos listened with his arms crossed while leaning against the wall, radiating displeasure. "And MacLeod brought you here because...?"

"Overloads like that broadcasted her location to others before Paul and I could get here. Others whom we'd rather not be found by, as they have a nasty habit of experimenting on people like us. We got out of her place, but -"

"Have you never heard the word hotel? Room for rent? Someplace that's not mine!"

"That's where we were going, but we got surprised by an overload -"

"Me - Adam, we were only a block away -" Duncan finally interjected.

Paul spoke up, hoping he could mollify their host. "If you're worried about us being followed to you, we weren't, and we've been able to create seals so they wouldn't have any signal to find or follow. We will leave as soon as we can."

Methos glared at Duncan who apologetically shrugged back. "She's a good friend, I can't let -"

"Please don't blame Duncan. He wasn't bringing us here specifically. We happened to be nearby when an overload started, so we broke in when he realized you weren't home."

Methos pushed off the wall, disgusted with himself for giving in. "Fine, you stay until she can move, then you get out." He turned away, pinching his nose, and addressed MacLeod in a low voice. "I just moved in, and if I have to move again because of this, I'm coming for your head, MacLeod. I hate moving!"

Peter's weary voice stopped further argument between he and MacLeod. "Mac, could you do me a favor? I left a number of things at the register over at the Chemists' shop. Would you please get them for me? There's money in my coat pocket."

"Do you want me to go back and get her clothes and things too?"

Paul shrugged slightly and pointed at the three bags he had dropped next to the couch earlier. "We got what's important."

"I'll be right back then, but M - Adam, I've got business with the museum this afternoon and tomorrow."

"MacLeod!" Warning snapped in Methos' eyes.

Mac just gave him an innocent smile. "Gotta go."

"Just great." Methos mumbled to himself and turned around. "So would you like a drink?" Both brothers were already snoring on the couch.

_One naked girl in my bed, two big guys on my couch! They start drinking my beer, and somebody's going to get hurt._

Methos eventually found himself sitting on the floor next to his own bed, trying to read, and watching the girl sleep. If Adam Pierson didn't need to stay in Paris for a few more years, he would have vanished without a second thought. MacLeod seemed to think she was harmless, even though it was painfully obvious he didn't know enough about this girl he called a friend. But he couldn't risk his neck based on the Highlander's opinion, could he?

The stranger in his bed inhaled deeply, moaned, and stretched. Her eyes flickered open for a second before she she rolled onto her side and went to sleep with an arm dangling off the edge of the bed. Instead of waking her exhausted brothers, he gently bent her elbow and tucked her hand under the pillow. Back to his reading.

A riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma. "I loathe that overused piece of..." He muttered to himself and set his journal aside, unable to concentrate on it at the moment. He changed his focus and reached under the nightstand, pulling out out what must be the armor her brother had referred to. His curiosity had been piqued earlier when Paul mentioned it, and now was probably his best chance to investigate without having to trust the strangers.

The suit - to thin and light to be Kevlar® - was built in several sections of varying shape, each section composed of small segments that fit together in a way reminiscent of scales on a lizard. Turning it over and around, Methos discovered that while the small segments were not independent of each other, the larger sections latched together to form a flexible suit.

Loops and pockets were attached around the front and back, even across the shoulders. Knowing their purpose would have to wait since they were empty, but they closely resembled certain extras he had sewn inside his trench coat, so a guess was easy to make. He figured if a girl was walking around in modern armor, it was entirely possible she would also be armed to the teeth, but where would the weapons have gone, and what exactly were they? It occurred to Methos yet again it probably wasn't safe to fall asleep in his own home as long as these three were here.

He was digging through her pile of clothes, wishing her bags weren't downstairs when a sound distracted him again. Was she muttering? He knew his hearing was perfect. That was Egyptian, Middle Egyptian, to be precise. But what were those next words? A language he hadn't shared with anyone for so many centuries he had to concentrate to understand and translate.

_What are you?_

Methos looked up to see Amy's eyes on him.

"You're Immortal." She said it quietly. His head slowly inclined as his mind raced. Her eyes squinted a little. "Methos?"

"Adam Pierson at the moment." He forced his expression to remain calm, giving nothing away. Internally he cursed MacLeod for spreading his secret around. He rather liked the Highlander, but if he was going to be telling everyone he met about knowing Methos…

"Thank you." With great effort Amy pushed herself up on one elbow to extend her hand.

Instead of shaking it, Methos took it in both of his and kissed it. "Your servant."

Amy chuckled slightly, collapsed back to the pillows and went to sleep as suddenly as she had awoken. Methos picked up his journal and returned to his original search, wondering if there was a chance he could wake up from this crazy dream.

He had a vague memory, one he was hoping to confirm by scanning through his oldest journals. Something kept brushing, literally, at the back of his mind and the language she used made that feeling stronger. Hadn't he once been told about a man that could control the power of the Quickening? The memory was so faint, he could be just making the whole thing up, but there was something. If only his recall would cooperate.

An hour or so later, and Methos once again felt green eyes boring into him from the bed. He closed his journal and pulled his headphones off.

"Your brother is downstairs mixing something quite odiferous for you to drink." He chuckled at the face she pulled. "He seems to think it will help."

Her small nod seem to concede that her brother did actually know what he was talking about. She reached up to stretch until a chill hit, and her arms slammed down to hold the covers in place as a blush spread from forehead to shoulders. Methos chuckled at her discomfiture and indicated the space under the nightstand where her clothes had been folded.

"All your clothes are under here. Including this ... armor? Doesn't feel like Kevlar."

"It's not. I field test experimental technology." Her voice was soft and husky from lack of use.

"Well I promise, I'm not that one that helped you out of it." Methos grinned as her face got a couple shades darker. He began to wonder if she could be as much fun to bait as the Highlander promised to be.

The next question was interrupted by Paul coming upstairs with a steaming mug that did not smell at all appetizing. He tried to give it to Amy, who refused to sit up.

"I want my clothes."

"Sis, the fever, the overheating... It's not a good idea."

Her eyes narrowed and Paul changed his mind very quickly. The mug was placed on the nightstand, her armor was picked up and Methos suddenly realized he needed another beer.

######

Opening his front door, Methos heard movement upstairs. His 'house guest' was apparently feeling better today. Quietly he ascended the stairs until he could see Amy, her back to him, slowly going through Tai Chi forms. Noting that her eyes were closed in concentration as she turned, he went up a few more steps and leaned against the wall, shoving the sleeves of his henley up before crossing his arms on his chest.

This being his first chance to see her out of bed, he was glad for the opportunity to size her up. She stood barely over five feet, blond braid falling past her waist. Instead of the armor he expected, she wore shorts and a tank top, showing off well defined muscles on a small frame. If he hadn't witnessed the crazy electric storm yesterday afternoon, not to mention six more that followed through the night, he never would have put her in the 'threat' category.

The slight wobbles as she reached and stretched betrayed lingering weakness, and he wondered how long until the next energy storm. She rotated towards Methos again, eyes still closed when a mid-step loss of balance caused her to grab the low wall separating his bedroom from the floor below. Her eyes opened, looking directly into his gold-flecked hazel.

"Two minutes!" She announced, checking her watch with a grin.

"Pardon?" His arms stayed crossed.

"Two minutes longer than I was able to go this morning. And nearly ten longer than last night."

He abruptly straightened and turned to go downstairs. "You need something to drink?"

"Please, but I'll come down."

"You don't have to," he called, his head already inside the fridge.

"Yes, yes I do." Her voice floated down as she descended more slowly than he. "If I let the guys have their way, I'd never get out of the bed."

Methos offered a juice bottle from the supply Peter had put in the fridge. "Where are your brothers?"

"Paul is out signing for a new place, and Peter went over to the Chemist to restock." She practically collapsed into the corner of the couch, worn out. "He was muttering something about feeding you properly, so don't order a pizza or anything."

Methos looked at her with mock horror as he sprawled in the opposite corner. "What does he consider 'properly'?"

She laughed with her eyes closed. "He means no fast food, but he's an amazing cook, so don't worry."

Silence fell while Methos waited until he thought Amy was sufficiently relaxed, perhaps even mostly asleep, and more willing to answer questions coming from a stranger. He desperately wanted to know where to classify her and her brothers so he would know how to deal with them.

"No armor today?"

Amy rolled her head to the side and opened her eyes for the first time since sitting down. The twist of her lip and arch of her eyebrow told Methos she was well aware of what he was trying.

She answered anyway, lightly mocking. "Are you a threat to me, that I need it?"

"Don't you think everyone should be considered a threat?"

"Sure, but -" A grimace of pain swept her face before any further reply could be made.

"You okay?"

"You may want to relocate, I can feel another overload coming." She stood, and took a few unsteady steps before crashing to her hands and knees.

The energy began to roll off her, trying to spread through the room. Teeth gritted, Amy refused to scream, but groans escaped as she fought to maintain control. Slowly, the energy stopped its spread, before the path changed and it rushed through the floor, into the earth below.

At the same time the energy release started, Methos found himself slammed by a headache. _Me? I don't have aspirin!_ Rubbing his temples, backing away to avoid being hit by the visible energy, he kept his eyes on Amy and the ribbons of light pouring off her.

Shorter than previous overloads and nearly as powerful, it left Amy panting on the floor, too weak to stand.

"Dammit!" Her palm smacked the hardwood floor with considerable force. "Damn, damn, dammit!" Every syllable was punctuated with another assault on the floor.

"Amy? I'm pretty sure the floor isn't a threat to you." He attempted to bring her mood back up with a gentle tease. She was too wrapped up in anger to hear him or feel the long fingers on her shoulder, until he started to pull her up. "Come on, I'll help you lay down."

She attempted several steps on her own, simply leaning on Methos' arm for support, but her legs trembled uncontrollably as soon as weight was applied. The third time in as many feet that she nearly fell, he simply scooped her up.

"Do you have any idea how humiliating this is?" She leaned against his shoulder, because it was easier than holding up her head, and missed his small smile.

As Methos reached the top few steps, they both heard one of the brothers knock and open the front door. Methos took a breath to call down, but Amy spoke first. "He already knows."

He helped her ease onto the mattress without falling. "You're telepathic. Of course you are." Rubbing his right temple in an attempt to relieve the pressure, he began to wonder if there was a point at which all of this would simply become too much. _I could have been unreachable in the South Pacific by now, but nooo._

"With the siblings." She rolled to her side and burrowed into the pillow. "Is your headache gone?"

"No, it's - how do you know?"

Her eyes closed as she concentrated for a moment and when she opened them the dark circles underneath may have been darker, but that could have been a trick of lighting. However, the headache had vanished as suddenly as it had come on.

"Sorry about that," she whispered, and promptly fell asleep.

When she awoke half an hour later, Methos was in his new usual spot on the floor next to his own bed, still searching his old journals and hoping she would talk in her sleep again.

"Peter brought up more of that stuff he calls tea and he swears dinner will be ready any minute." He held the cup out to her. Amy wouldn't look at it.

"What's the point? It's foul, and it's not working."

"Pouting?"

"Mothering?" Amy shot back, instantly sorry for taking her frustration out on the Immortal who chose to ignore it. "I'm sorry, we're doing nothing but imposing on you. I shouldn't snap."

He dipped his head in acceptance of her apology and kept the cup outstretched as she sat up. "You seem to have gained some control. Your brothers weren't...shielding?...for you and my flat's in one piece."

Amy tried to determine if he was being sarcastic, but found she was unable to read his perfectly blank face. She finally took the cup and drank it as quickly as she could before the bitter taste hit.

"Why so grumpy?"

Amy made a sour face as she slid back down. "Obviously the intensity has decreased. I thought the interval was increasing, too, because that one was almost thirty minutes overdue. I guess we'll see in a little while."

"And your brother hasn't declared that you can leave either. You hate being stuck in one place as much as you hate losing control, don't you?" Methos guessed and was rewarded with a short nod.

"I wish you'd let me have the couch, and take your bed back."

"No, you three have a little more privacy up here." Actually, as long as he was downstairs he had three escape routes available. Upstairs there was only one.

######

The third morning after breaking in, Peter finally declared they were leaving immediately after the next overload, which was due in about twenty minutes. Even with rush hour traffic, they should still have enough time to get to the next apartment and somewhat settled before they needed to be on guard again.

At the expected time Peter and Paul stood close by - just in case - while Amy successfully weathered the attack on her own.

Once it was over, Peter fussed over Amy as she dressed herself - armor and all ("You'd think he was a nurse, not a neurosurgeon, huh?" Amy rolled her eyes at Methos when she was finally allowed downstairs). At last, Peter left her to rest on the couch while he stepped out to flag down a taxi and Paul made sure nothing was going to be left behind.

Methos leaned against the wall and considered her. "Are you sure this is wise? Have you even walked across the apartment on your own?"

"Are you sure it's not wise? You want us out of here." Amy's tone was self-mocking, but the look she gave him was difficult to interpret. "Imposing on you for three days is already too much. I don't know how I can ever repay you for putting up with us." She pulled a card out of her back pocket. "I, uh, seriously doubt you'd want to see any of us again, but here's the address, just in case you need something." Her smile was a mix of teasing and shyness. 'Mi casa es su casa'…"

His eyes snapped from the card to her face in time to see the corners of her mouth twitching before she bit a knuckle and a snort escaped. Methos took the card, because it was the polite thing to do, but he let a smile play across his lips, too.

Peter came inside, easily picked up his sister, looked directly at Methos trying convey the depth of his gratitude as he simply said, "Thank you."

Methos grabbed his backpack and followed them out the door; it was time to get to his duties at Watcher headquarters.

He leaned against the cab and looked down at Amy, still unsure what this new wrinkle meant for Adam Pierson. "Take care of yourselves."

"Keep your head. It looks good where it is." She winked and grinned as the cab pulled away.

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NEXT: A Beer and A Coke


	2. A Beer and A Coke

**Note: **This takes place 3 days after chapter 1.  
Also, I added a poem at the very front of Chapter 1. I was reading through a lot of poetry several days ago and stumbled across that one. I couldn't believe how well it fit what was going on.

**Reviews:** Please please please please. (And a HUGE thank you to the 3 of you that took the time to drop a line. I highly appreciate it!)

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**A Beer & A Coke. Or Two.**

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Methos had spent nearly every free moment in the last seventy-two hours in a mad search through his journals, trying to find what would probably turn out to be only a few sentences. It may have been as recently as three thousand - probably closer to forty-five hundred - years ago when another Immortal had told him the strange story. Then, it was only a rumor. Now, it had the appearance of fact, and he had to find that passage. He should have written at least a page about a non-Immortal able to wield the power of a Quickening and he his choice of written languages wasn't exactly vast that far back, so it shouldn't have been so difficult to find the right volume in which to start.

Instead, here he was, short on sleep, over-caffeinated, frustrated, and unable to jog any concrete memory from the deepest recesses of his mind. He thought about setting aside the problem to take a break, but after so many centuries of finding nothing new, he wanted an answer sooner, not later.

He had been annoyed with himself for trusting MacLeod, and irritated with the Scot for breaking into his home with strangers in tow, so Methos let the younger Immortal know in no uncertain terms that he was not welcome to call or drop by until he was invited over first. He had likely hurt Mac's feelings, but Mac needed to learn a lesson in protecting the privacy of Methos and the identity of Adam Pierson. Unfortunately, this meant that Methos felt he couldn't simply ask MacLeod about the siblings so that he could decide what to do about them.

Hadn't Amy herself given him the address and an implied invitation? Curiosity was getting the better of him, a bad habit he thought he had quashed eons ago. So here he was, standing in the middle of the street in a run-down neighborhood, wondering which of the crumbling five story buildings was the right one and what would possess a protective brother to get his sister a place in this area. Methos finally spotted the building number he wanted through layers of dirt, opened the grimy door, and climbed the stairs.

Amy felt her stomach flip a little when the sudden knock sounded on her apartment door, pulling her out of her thoughts. Her brothers wouldn't knock and MacLeod had been asked to not contact them for a few days, since surveillance other than the Watchers was spotted near his barge. She picked up her 9mm from the coffee table and stayed on the couch for the little bit of cover it could provide. Gun aimed about chest level, she called, "C'mon in."

The doorknob turned slowly, the hinges creaked, and Amy adjusted her grip ever so slightly. The head of Methos popped around the door, and he immediately spied the gun.

"I hope that's not for me."

"Adam!" She chuckled as she put the gun back on the table. "Have a seat." She tucked her legs underneath herself to give him room. After three days with no human interaction outside of her extremely protective brothers, Amy was overjoyed to see the Immortal.

"Are you expecting someone? Should I come back later, when it's safe?" He indicated the gun while hovering in the doorway, unsure if he really wanted to commit to being in the dilapidated apartment.

Amy thought his voice was overly concerned, so she reassured him. "No, not expecting anybody. But if you call a girl ahead of time, you might not be greeted by a gun in your face."

He walked around and sank into the corner of the couch, sitting sideways, as Amy was. "I would love to be able to ring you first, but someone neglected to include her phone number with her address."

"Noted. Next Immortal I give my new hideaway address to, hand over the super secret phone number, too. So, welcome to my four hundred square feet of sanctuary." Her hand waved to encompass the two room apartment, tucked up under the roof of a three hundred year old building. It made the low rent hovels of students look like luxury living in comparison.

"I admit, this is not an area in which I would expect to find you. A dead body, maybe, but living here…?"

"Well, that's the point isn't it? In a neighborhood like this, there are very few questions and even fewer who answer them. And, it was furnished!"

"Whoever called this 'furnished' lied to you," Methos dryly observed as he looked around. "I'm a grad student, and I don't call this furnished! At least not comfortably." A small shift in his weight generated an attack from something inside the decrepit couch, causing an uncomfortable prodding in his backside that he couldn't avoid no matter how much he repositioned himself on the cushion.

Amy giggled at his maneuvers. "If you're here when Paul gets back, I'll have him show you his trick for getting around that spring. So, what brings you here today? Enjoyed having your personal space invaded so much, you came over here for more?" Shutting the book on her lap, she turned her full attention to the Immortal.

"Yes. I enjoyed having three strangers living in my bedroom so much, I came over to beg you to come back."

"You came over to see if you could figure us out." Her knowing smile mocked him, while the light tone of her voice indicated she didn't mind.

"And you'll let me do it if I take you out for lunch!"

"No, sorry." She grinned before relenting. "I just ate. But there's plenty of leftovers, help yourself." She pointed at the fridge, giving him permission to search its shelves.

Methos, reasoning his unannounced arrival meant anything edible wouldn't be pre-poisoned, went over and rummaged around, returning with a plastic bowl, fork, bottle of beer and a can of Coke. He handed her the can and settled back on the couch.

"You noticed," she smiled as she cracked her drink open.

"So did you." He lifted the bottle at her in salute.

"It seemed wise to have a supply on hand." Her eyes twinkled, giving lie to the seriousness on her face.

"So, are you sharing this place with your brothers, or have they abandoned you with nothing but a pea shooter for self-defense?"

"First, a 9mm with hollow-point zombie killers is nothing to snort at. Second, yes they're crashing here until they can return to the States. During the day they're being the face of my company, taking care of any business that couldn't be rescheduled."

"Leaving one angry sister alone all day, waiting for zombies? Why are you trapped in here, anyway?"

"_They_ decided I can't show my face in public for about a week, hoping certain stalkers will think I left town. Peter has decided physical exertion is a trigger for the overloads, so I can't train or even walk around the block. I've paid every bill for the next six months, imagined four ways to flay them alive, and discovered three security holes in one government agency's computer system. I've even devised a plan to put bombs in their stuff - I'm debating the best type to use at the moment - and now I'm starting to read the entire Charles Dickens collection, unabridged. Shoot me now."

Her words came faster and faster until she finished. Only then did she take a long breath to cool down.

Methos paused his eating and raised his eyebrows at Amy.

"No, really. I cannot begin to describe my level of loathing for Dickens, but for some reason, they came with the place and it's all I have to read!" She tossed the paperback toward the rickety bookcase across the room with a sigh. "Sorry, I'd been keeping busy during the day with computer work that needed done, but I finished early today and after three days of no air, no exercise..."

He glanced at the small black gun on the coffee table, then back at the slightly manic female at the other end of the couch. His inner voice of self-preservation was demanding to leave without a backward look. Curiosity whispered from the other side, begging to stay and keep learning.

Curiosity won. Again. But then, the free beer and lunch was more than just one point in favor of curiosity.

"I don't think being stuck here watching flying rats is good for your continued sanity." He casually pointed his fork at the large wall of glass opposite the apartment door, indicating a small flock of pigeons that had landed on the ledge.

She snorted in agreement. "I named them all the day I moved in. That group is Bobby, Pesto, and Squit. The other four interlopers are Rodent, Mooch, Smack, and Kevin. What? He can _not_ land without bouncing off the glass!" As if to prove her point, three of the birds took off, flew a small circle in front of the window and landed, one bouncing off a pane of glass first. "All day long. I swear."

"You're about to go completely off your rocker."

"I already did! Please, question away! I'm crazy enough right now to answer everything you might ask. Wait." She shook her already empty Coke. "Let me get another can."

"I'm not sure you need more caffeine," he laughed at her as she jumped off the couch and went into the kitchen.

She chose to ignore the dig. "For you?"

"Another beer?"

As she returned and handed him the opened bottle, Methos leaned back on the couch, studying Amy through slightly narrowed eyes.

"You answer your door armed, are you wearing your armor too?"

Amy casually pulled the open neck of her long-sleeved shirt over to reveal a small portion of the armor covering her shoulder. "Never without it," she said with a wry twist to her mouth. Then she noticed the look she was getting from Methos. "What's that face for?"

"You are too cavalier about trusting others. Even MacLeod doesn't - "

"Are you a threat to me?"

"You're avoiding…"

"How do you know it's not just you?" She challenged with an arched eyebrow. "Well, you and Mac. And Joe," she started counting on her fingers. "And my sensei, family, a couple friends…" She paused, staring blankly at the ceiling while pretending to search her memory. "That should be it."

Methos looked at her slack-jawed, hoping she was trying to be funny. "You need to work on your survival skills."

"Are you a threat to me?" Amy demanded of him.

"That's not the point."

"I think it is."

"You trust too easily and you will wind up dead before your time." In regards to her own self-preservation, this silly girl had to be worse than the Highlander!

Amy was in the middle of giving an unconcerned shrug and taking a swallow of Coke when Methos decided to prove his point. On the pretense of stretching and leaning to get the offending spring out of his bum, he shot his hand forward and grabbed the handgun which was just an inch or two past his knee.

His fingers had just brushed the grip when sudden movement from Amy brought him up short. Her smaller hand held his wrist firmly on top of the gun and now she now knelt on the couch so they were nose to nose, barely an inch between them. Her green eyes glittered and the lines of her eyes and lips were suddenly narrowed and hard.

"Before I built a wall I'd ask to know, what I was walling in or walling out."** She sighed, seeing the question in his eyes. "If I don't trust anyone, I still die. I just die alone."

"Some might consider a long life of experience a good trade-off for not being forced to live in the quagmire of humanity."

Still speaking, he tried to lift his hand from underneath hers while still holding the gun. Her grip tightened, but there was no way she was going to overpower him.

Methos felt a sharp prick drawing his eyes to a stiletto she had raised to his neck quick as a flash and without making a sound. It was precisely the reaction he had hoped to see.

Amy saw Methos' dark hazel eyes suddenly flash with gold highlights.

"Just because I prefer to make friends, don't mistake me for stupid or unprepared." She pushed the stiletto against his skin just a hair more, still without enough pressure to break the skin. After all, she really only wanted to get his attention.

Then, as suddenly as she had dropped her Coke to the floor to defend herself, she slid the long knife back into its sheath between her shoulder blades and leaned back into the corner of the couch. Her eyes quickly returned to their normal calm.

The gun remained on the table as she went about cleaning the small spill of Coke her quick moves had caused. Methos stayed on the couch more determined than ever to recall that obnoxious little memory that was hiding in the back of his mind.

"Who _are_ you?" He looked down at her head as she blotted the liquid with paper towels retrieved from the kitchen.

"Amy Allan, pleased to meet you." She stretched her hand out after shoving an unruly curl off her face. He ignored it, glaring at her. She dropped her hand, unperturbed. She knew her answer wasn't the one he wanted, but there wasn't any other answer to give.

"What kind of life is it to wear armor twenty-four seven?"

"I don't know," she shrugged while carrying the wet paper towels to the trash. "What's it like to wonder if the Immortal brushing at the edge of your senses is the one that will finally take your head? If today's the day an accident will force you to drop everything and walk away from this life?"

Amy decided to switch to coffee, grabbing a used mug and filling it from the pot that had been warming for a while. She resettled into her corner of the couch, sitting with her legs folded up in front of her.

"How do you know about us?" Methos demanded once she was settled.

Amy grinned fondly. "Not long after we first met, I stumbled into Mac taking a head and the inevitable result, so he couldn't exactly get out of telling me."

"You're not especially attached to Mac are you? I'm going to have to kill him." Methos studied Amy's reaction from under his eyelashes as he took a long swallow of beer.

"Why?" She remained disappointingly calm.

"If he's spreading my identity around to every naked girl he dumps in my bed..." He was pleased by the light flush working its way up her face and hid another smirk with the beer bottle.

"But he didn't," she argued.

She went on to explain how she learned that she and Immortals seemed to be on a very similar mental wavelength, making it possible for her to accidentally broadcast herself in such a manner that MacLeod had mistaken her for an Immortal (and a threat) when they first met. Methos refused to believe it until she shut him up by demonstrating what happened if she didn't shield herself properly around him. While looking into her steady eyes he felt the light buzz of a pre-Immortal rapidly strengthen and become the crushing headache of previous days, and he didn't doubt anymore.

It was that same similarity that caused the problem when Amy got too close to Mac in the middle of a Quickening, and she found herself with a direct link to his memories. Much like suddenly and drastically increasing the power to a radio station's transmitter, the raw power inside the Quickening overwhelmed her mental shields and caused a headache much like she had given Methos. It had been impossible to block for a while, but she soon figured out how strong her mental shields needed to be. However, during her overloads, she had been unable to shield herself and had accidentally picked up thoughts and memories from MacLeod. The memory of Methos must have come through in such a manner.

"If you're not one of us, are you human?" There it was. He had asked the question that had been asserting itself in his brain since he had found her in his bed. Perhaps she would answer the question in a straightforward manner and save him from more fruitless journal searches.

The coffee mug held just under her chin, she considered Methos across the top of it for several beats before answering. "As human as you."

_Or, perhaps not._

Amy inhaled deeply, her mouth twitched in a small smile, and she looked directly into his eyes. "Half of me carries the pure blood of the first Celts to set foot on Ireland. The other half of me is... blood more ancient than that. Blood ancient enough to call you 'child.'"

She blinked, the seriousness was gone, and her eyes danced once again. "And you, Adam? Are you still a student, or after so long are you the Great Sage of Immortals?"

He snorted. "I'm just a guy with... a... Amy?"

She was holding perfectly still, something that hadn't happened in the forty-five minutes he'd been in the apartment. Her eyes were clamped shut, her fingers tightening around the large coffee mug, and he could see the twitch of her face as her jaw clenched and unclenched. After being frozen for many long seconds, she swiftly set the mug on the coffee table and jumped off the couch, heading for the bedroom door.

She didn't make it.

Of the previous attacks Methos had seen, this was certainly the least spectacular and the headache he expected was nothing more than an uncomfortable pressure at each temple. She simply braced herself in the doorframe, gritted her teeth, and focused on keeping the visible energy within millimeters of her body. He couldn't have counted fully to one hundred before the light vanished, and she was left standing with her head on the wall, breathing heavily.

"Amy?"

She gave him a wan smile and wobbled her way back to the couch to pick up her coffee mug.

"Should you rest?"

"I'll be fine. The last few haven't drained me like before." She dumped the remaining coffee down the sink and made herself a fresh cup.

Methos followed her around the island before leaning against the fridge, hands in his pockets, sleeves shoved up to his elbows. Cocking his head he watched her hands shake slightly as she spooned cocoa powder into the mug, then poured coffee and milk on top. Her entire focus centered on the spoon going around and around.

"You're afraid of yourself," he said quietly.

"Am I not supposed to be?" She didn't look away from her task and let the hair that had come out of her long braid hang where it may.

"Has this sort of thing happened before?"

"No, this is new and the consequences..."

"How long since the last?"

"About forty hours." She still hadn't looked up, even though she had finally quit stirring her coffee in order to take a swallow. "And now I'm trapped in here for at least two more days!"

"But it is getting better." He was still quiet, his tone even.

"Slowly. Dammit, I don't want this!" The mug suddenly slammed down, sloshing the contents all over. "I didn't ask for it! Can you imagine what it's like to -" She stopped herself and looked at Methos sideways. "I'm sorry. Of course you can."

Her lips twisted in what may have been a sad smile while she grabbed a towel and started mopping up another mess. "Perhaps I'd better rest after all. I suddenly seem to be a bad host."

"I've had worse." Methos was rewarded with a small chuckle. "What if I come by tomorrow? Perhaps I can bring something other than Dickens to read, if you promise to not throw it."

"I'd like that. Otherwise, I'll only have the pigeons."

"Questions are preferable to the winged rats? I'll have to remember that. Perhaps get Peter to keep you locked up with the pigeons until - " He dodged the wet towel that came flying at his head, laughing at the set of Amy's jaw and the mock anger in her eyes as he grabbed his coat and sword and went out the door.

* * *

**Mending Fences by Robert Frost

NEXT: Escape Big Brother


	3. Escape Big Brother

NOTICE: 6/25/12 There are revisions in the chapter. Nothing changes the story, but should add to it. Some I also found some typos that had slipped past me several times.

Thank you all for adding this to your alerts & dropping a line in reviews. I appreciate it. Seriously, it makes my day.

Timeline: Canon - still after "Methos" and before "Finale"  
Story - the morning after Chapter 2

* * *

**Escape Big Brother**

* * *

Methos molded his oversized coat around his body, slumped his shoulders, and tilted his head to one side. With an innocent half smile on his face the mask was complete. He was no longer the sly man who had lived past fifty centuries, but a shy graduate student named Adam Pierson.

When the door jerked open and he found himself confronted with the angry glare of Peter, he was glad the old woman in the lobby had slowed him down with small talk. Methos made a mental note to send Madame Martin flowers for inadvertently letting him know Amy's brothers were in the apartment.

"Pierson." Peter glowered out the door, then seemed to remember himself and stepped out of the way while speaking more politely. "Come in."

Keeping his back to the wall and his eyes on Peter's holstered gun, discretion seemed the best path to follow. It was less fun than commenting on a family who answer the door armed, but far, far safer, judging by the scowls being sent towards the bedroom door.

"Sooo, your sister is driving you crazy." His eyebrows were raised in the most disarming manner possible.

"Someone," Peter glared at his younger brother, "told her the surveillance on the old place left. Therefore, she is in the middle of making a very bad decision and refuses to listen."

Methos covered the coming laugh with a large sniff as he shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned against the wall. "This is a common occurrence, I take it?"

"My sister is too cavalier about her own personal safety. She takes insane risks and," he raised his voice to carry clearly through the closed bedroom door, "she's doing it again, right now!"

Paul stayed in the background, but his gaze met Methos' and he smiled while rolling his eyes. Obviously, this was a longstanding argument. Methos hid another smile, hearing Peter use the same word he had the afternoon before. Methos found it amusing that Peter didn't seem to see Adam Pierson as a threat, even while being concerned about his sister's actions.

"Ah, well, would it help if I went as her chaperon and we promised to stay well away from dangerous and secluded areas?"

Peter looked at him with narrowed eyes. "Don't pretend this is a sudden thought on your part."

Methos shrugged his shoulders innocently. "We certainly never discussed anything of the sort. I just came by to drop off a few books."

"Discussed what?" The girl herself appeared, dressed and towel drying her hair that was now a dull, mousy brown and at least eighteen inches shorter than it had been.

"A special technique developed over many years. Run while you can!"

She needed no further inducement to drop the towel, grab her backpack from beside the door, and run out before Peter could protest.

They decided to have a cup of coffee together before Adam Pierson went to his classes, choosing to sit at a cafe a block from the school.

"What did you do to Peter?" Methos opened the conversation. It would be useful to know what tended to set the young man off.

"Nothing!" She could see that her protest wasn't believed. "Well, I'd enrolled in a half term class long before any of the...extenuating circumstances arose, and I refuse to miss the first day simply because he doesn't think I should be out and about yet. Something about simply changing my hair color not fooling anyone, blah blah blah."

Methos shook his head in bemusement. Considering the blade she put to his throat the day before, she had a mask as practiced as Adam Pierson's and was more than capable of self-defense. If she really didn't care about his head - and she'd left MacLeod's alone so far - it would be interesting to stay around and see where knowing these siblings might lead. Since he and Byron had parted ways, Methos had managed to maintain a very quiet life. Quiet was better at ensuring 'just one more day,' but it did lead to overwhelming boredom and after a hundred and fifty years, he was experiencing yearnings for a little excitement. What was the unknown if not exciting?

With an internal goodbye to 'quiet life,' Methos asked Amy to join him for lunch as soon as they were out of class.

After their lunch, the chilly morning breezes had died, Amy begged - and nearly bullied - Methos into stepping across the street to sit in the park and enjoy the rare warmth of the April day.

He leaned his back against a tree and Amy flopped in the grass to his left to leave his sword hand clear, reading her own textbook. The temperature was already over seventy degrees, so they removed their coats. Hers provided a cushion between Methos' back and the tree bark; his stayed carefully folded around his sword next to his right hand. Just in case.

Yesterday Methos went back to his journals with fresh determination to find the passage he wanted. Today he carried a small journal with him - he was still reading in his cuneiform years - and it was proving to be just as unhelpful as the previous volumes. A soft disgusted snort left his nose as he slammed the book shut. It was time to move on to the next volume, which would likely continue the futile trend. How could it be so hard to remember where one had written something down? Perhaps he should skip to some of his Hieroglyph volumes and hope he didn't miss anything.

"What's going on?" Amy would have been relieved to hear the book was only being slammed to dispatch a gnat. She was not enthralled with her dry textbook and was glad for any excuse to take a break. She'd spent the last forty minutes fighting off a nap instead of actually reading.

"This bloody translation was bungled so badly, it's nearly worthless. No wonder everybody's got the wrong ideas about the Sumerians."

"Oh yeah, you're in Classical Studies? Seems like that would be cheating somehow. The only way to cheat more is if you were getting a degree in ancient languages."

He raised one finger over his book. "Its not cheating if it's your cover to get in the Watchers." Ancient languages. Of course! Methos almost smacked his head for forgetting. He had distinctly heard Amy using Middle Egyptian in her sleep. That would make his Hieroglyphic writings the logical place to start.

"Ah, yeah, makes sense." Amy gave up all pretense of studying and rolled onto her back, letting the sun wash over her face.

"Bloody wonderful waste of time," Methos muttered under his breath.

"What?"

"Not only is the translation bungled, the entire book isn't even close to what I asked for. The Watchers have nearly useless librarians." He covered his words, hoping she didn't know the actual workings of the Watcher's library in Paris.

"Ah. Hey, what's the cover name they use? International ummm…"

"Assets Corporation," he finished for her and Amy started chuckling. "What?"

"How funny is this? Couple of years ago, when I had just started the consulting business, I wasted a week trying to get them to see the value in an outside security consultant."

A smile flashed across his face. "Not persuasive enough back then?"

"Couldn't make it past the front gate." She crossed her arms and scowled at the memory.

The mental image of a very put-out Amy standing nose-to-buttons with the stone-faced guards at the front gate, she unintimidated by their guns and they unimpressed with her demands, made him chuckle.

"All right, you don't have to rub it in."

"You never got in, did you?"

"Oh, I got in. I went back at four in the morning and left a…gift in the library."

"You didn't!"

"I'm going to guess it hasn't been found yet, since I haven't been hunted down." She humphed. "They need me more than I thought."

"Well, I guess that gives me something else to do when I'm in the stacks. Come on, lets go get a drink." They gathered their things, shrugging into their coats, and walked to a cafe on the other side of the park.

They strolled down the sidewalk together, each holding their own backpack. Methos carried his somewhat more like a satchel, both straps in his left hand and the bag hanging close to his knees. Amy wondered if the bag weren't a convenient excuse to carry more weapons, since it clearly had no more than two books. Her own bag was casually slung over one shoulder and both hands held the strap, though the sleight weight of one text, one notebook, and a long knife didn't call for such a grip.

"So, what are you doing at the Sorbonne?"

She shrugged, "I find my days rather empty, just sitting around waiting for the sun to go down so I can work. So, I decided to take a class. Gives me something different to do for a while every day."

"If I were a little more vain, I'd think you were coming up with reasons to be around me."

She threw her head back and laughed. "Oh, you are plenty vain! Just remember who drug who out for coffee this morning, then begged for lunch! I chose this school because I can walk from home."

"Why on earth would you want to do that?"

"What, walk?"

"It's winter!" Methos shivered slightly inside his coat.

"It's spring. Don't you love spring?" Amy felt a little silly, discovering she was actually bouncing just a little going down the sidewalk, but finally getting outside put her in that good of a mood.

"The cold air? The fog? Being eternally damp?" He sniffed his distaste. "What's not to love?"

"What are you, the eternal pessimist? It's getting green instead of gray, the days are longer, and it's almost warm as long as the sun is up!"

Methos had been looking forward to goading her into a debate, but the weather hardly promised to be controversial even if she were being contrary.

"Tell me, exactly how did you meet MacLeod?"

"About four years ago I was told a family heirloom - a sword, actually - was spotted in his shop, so I went to check it out." Amy chuckled at the memory. "He thought I was an Immortal and I thought he was crazy. I'm still not sure how we managed to do business, the way he was acting... Anyway, when I finally got him to give me an evening appointment to show me the sword, I came across him in the middle of a duel..."

"Wait," Methos began ticking points off on his fingers. "You were 'broadcasting' enough he could sense you, you were after a sword in his shop - which he likely gained by taking a head - and you wanted to check it out at night? You set off every "I'm hunting you" Immortal alarm there is!"

"Sure, I know that _now_! It really was like a big comedy of errors once we sat down and talked it out. But, I stumbled into this duel and saw the head fall, and the rest is..." She ended with a shrug.

"The rest is what?"

"An adventure like none other!"

Methos shook his head in disbelief and kept moving. Amy laughed again, quickening her pace to keep up with his long strides. They settled at a small table on the sidewalk and as soon as their drink orders were done, conversation and questions continued.

After Amy told him about her business - security consulting - he led her into speaking about her childhood in Louisiana, and got her to confirm she and her brothers shared the same parents, but grew up in different families, explaining Peter's German and Paul's lilting Spanish accents in stark contrast to her American drawl. She didn't answer questions about her parents, or why they were separated, always deflecting his probing with a question of her own. Methos pretended to not notice, but he appreciated how she never asked specifics about him, countering with questions about Immortals in general.

Silence fell as they simply enjoyed their drinks for a while. Methos watched the crowds passing by on the sidewalk. Amy focused her attention on the music coming through the cafe's outdoor speakers, causing her vision of the world to change. The colors had been dancing in a muted way, triggered by the background music, but now that their voices weren't covering the sound and she could focus on it more the colors were deeply saturated, running freely all around her.

She indulged in watching the colors dancing and weaving around the old Immortal across from her in lines, whirls, and ribbons. He was fascinating, and it was difficult to resist asking personal questions, but she didn't have a gauge on his truthfulness quite yet. To be so old surely came with paranoia and she wanted to do as much as possible to make it clear that she wasn't a threat to him. If that meant not asking questions, so be it. Perhaps soon he would quit acting like a nervous cat.

The silver and gold trails of light wrapping around the old man made someone she considered good-looking become breathtakingly beautiful. Naturally, she got caught staring.

"Sorry, lost in thought!" She lied in response to Methos' questioning look and dropped her eyes back to her glass.

This was her second biggest secret, and while Methos may have unavoidably learned about her other gifts, this wasn't one she was ready to share. The colors dancing before her eyes were difficult for others to believe, since no one else could see them. When she tried to tell her parents what happened in front of her vision when music played, she hadn't been believed. It was her first lesson in not sharing her secrets. She learned it well.

"Amy, the way you answer my questions, are you..."

She interrupted, anticipating the question. "Yup."

Methos shook his head and smiled. "Being honest?"

"Yup."

"Minus a few details," he allowed with a tilt of his head. She silently agreed with a tip of her own.

Methos felt Amy seemed oddly unconcerned being around him, and probably MacLeod as well. It could be because she'd known Mac for long enough that Immortals didn't seem so strange. Perhaps it was - as she said yesterday - because of her own abilities that she had no problem accepting their existence. But there was still something else...

"Even MacLeod can't go around without calling me Methos, yet you only call me Adam."

"Hello, covert Rules 101? Don't blow cover. Aren't Immortals constantly under cover? I'm not going to get in the habit of using the wrong name."

Methos smiled in appreciation and relaxed a bit.

Amy continued. "But you are Adam. Right here, right now, sitting in front of me _is_ Adam Pierson. What else do I need to know?" Her shoulder lifted in an unconcerned shrug.

"You can get into a lot of trouble thinking people are only what they appear to be."

"Do I have to see every detail of your life to know who is in front of me?" She stared out over the sidewalk. "Maybe I do accept people as they present themselves, maybe I don't. Maybe, eventually, you'll tell me more about yourself if you think I need to know." _Maybe there's something in your eyes sometimes that tells me I don't really want to know what's in your past._

A shiver made its way down Methos' spine. Not for the first time there was a flash of knowing in Amy's eyes when she spoke.

"A lot of Immortals have lost their heads with that idea."

"Well, I'm not one of you, am I?" She shrugged again, never taking her eyes off the flow of humanity as it passed, their own island of calm on the busy street. After a pause she looked back at Methos, seeing his gaze firm and cool and a challenge in his eyes. Used to standing up to her brothers, she questioned him in return. "Do you think I answer your questions because I want something from you?"

"That is typically the way it works."

With a lift of her eyebrows she allowed he was right. "True. And I do want something."

Methos practically crowed in triumph, a denial ready for when she named it. "What do you want from me?"

"Friendship," she stated simply. At his scoff she smiled at trapping him in the quip. "I already told you, I like making friends. Will you quit being so suspicious and just be friends?"

"Maybe. I'll let you know in a couple days." He smiled at her obvious disappointment. "Oh, I did bring the reading material I promised."

Methos dug in his bag and pulled out two volumes and pushed them across the table. "Remember, no throwing."

Amy laughed and picked them up to read the spines. "Hm. Kierkegaard? You can keep that one or I _will_ throw it. Argued with him plenty in college, thanks. Tolkien? Oh, I could almost kiss you! Thank you!"

Methos laughed at her overly dramatic response. "Don't do anything that will encourage Peter to hate me more, please!" Amy waved her hand and made a noise of dismissal. "Listen, I have to get to work you know, finding myself. I can't deliver anything else for a few days. Will this be enough to keep you from planting bombs in your brother's knickers?"

Amy choked instead of swallowing and managed to wheeze out, "Yeah, I can manage that. Good news is, they're leaving the day after tomorrow!"

"Then I'll see you the day after that," he teased.

"Alright. See you then."

"I'll take you back..."

"Don't be silly, it's not like I don't know the way."

"I'm pretty sure your brothers would hunt me down if I didn't personally return you."

"Contrary to my big brother's belief, I was taught to take care of myself and I happen to be very good at it. You go on, when I decide to leave, I'll take myself home."

With a lot of shoo-ing from Amy, Methos took his bag and left her at the cafe, sipping a coffee and making a second attempt at her text book.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Amy (and her entire birth family) is a synesthete. It's a documented condition that had been studied in the late 19th c (1880s - 1900) and then almost completely abandoned until recently (interest picked back up in the 90s, oddly). I found out about it from a tv program that focused on a particularly rare case where sounds trigger visions of color AND tastes in the woman being followed. It's fascinating. The Wiki article is amazingly thorough for a good overview.


	4. Meals for Immortals

**Author note:** I did some re-editing on Ch 3 (Escape Big Brother). Nothing major, a bit of re-wording, a little added description, but hopefully it will clear up any motivation issues.  
Thanks to all for commenting and adding to alerts. You make my day!

**Canon note:** We're still between "Methos" and "Finale"

**Story note:** This is 4 - 7 days after chapter 3.

* * *

**Meals for Immortals**

* * *

**CHANCE MEETING**  
by Peter Paton copyright 1995

There is an element of mystery about chance meetings  
Nothing is by coincidence in this world  
What we see is not all that is happening  
Unseen forces are at work everywhere  
Sewing the threads of pre ordained design  
Hidden from view from before time

So experience the feel of every moment  
Understand and trust the gentle flow  
That brings you and I into view  
Tis the fulcrum that angels employ  
Discerning souls of the select  
Brought together to fulfill the secret plan

* * *

Methos knocked his now-familiar rhythm on Amy's door. She was hardly surprised, since it was dinner time, after all. What did it matter they had made no plans? In the space of only a couple days, they had settled into a routine with him appearing just about the time she began cooking, as if he could hear her begin to rattle the pans and dishes from five miles away. If Amy thought he was taking advantage, she never batted an eye.

Without checking the peephole, Amy quickly unlocked the door so he could let himself in while she continued her phone conversation and returned to the stove. Methos hung up his coat and followed the scent of the thawed fish over to the kitchen.

"Oh c'mon Amanda, it's a perfect job for you," Amy said, waving one finger in the air at Methos.

Methos raised his eyebrows. He wasn't surprised to learn she and Amanda knew each other, both being friends with MacLeod, their crossing paths would be likely. But knowing Amanda as he did, Methos didn't understand how the two could be in the same room, let alone be plotting together, and he didn't want to envision the possible results.

"Amanda," Amy lowered the pitch of her voice and drawled the thief's name, almost like she was trying to seduce the other woman. "You'd get to take something out of the safe this time… Yes, I said you could take something out. Huh?"

Hearing one word confirmed his suspicions. Safe. He knew foul play was afoot and it explained Amy's strange outfit. Along with her ever-present armor, tonight she wore tight black pants and climbing shoes. Lunging for the phone, Methos attempted to break into the conversation.

Circling the island backwards, Amy ducked away from Methos' reaching fingers. She managed to keep the phone, but missed what Amanda was asking her. After the question was repeated, Amy was happy to provide the information.

"It's a Securifort...that's what I thought you'd say. What? Well, yes you would have to give it back… Amanda, we've had that discussion, and I can't let you actually steal from my clients…" Amy glared at Methos as he choked back his laughter silently, a huge grin on his face.

Amy breathed deeply for a moment, then forced her voice back into its more seductive register. "But you will be paid practically full market value…" she paused to listen. "Amanda!" Amy gave up and hollered at the phone, "there is no need for language like that! Fine! You have have a _great_ day, too! What? Of course we're still going dancing Friday night. Why wouldn't we?"

She shoved the cordless phone into its base with an exasperated growl before turning her attention back to the stove and her dinner.

"Did I just hear you correctly? You're trying to get Amanda to work for you? Honest employment for Amanda? It'll never happen." Methos continued to chuckle.

"Oh, stop." Amy smiled at him as she began to melt butter in her small skillet.

"You said you're in security. Why on earth would you hire a thief?"

"Because she's an excellent thief." Amy answered without looking back.

"Again - a security consultant needs a thief because...?"

"For a particular job, I need to get into a safe and take proof I was there. Amanda's far better at safes than I am, so I want her help. " Amy gently slid two fillets into the butter before digging around in one of the cabinets and pulling out jars of dried seasonings.

Methos just shook his head and let it go, sure there was no use in arguing with her.

Once the fillets were turned, Amy pulled more fish out of the freezer and put it under warm water in the sink so it would thaw quickly.

"You know, I do notice that you seem to conveniently come over at mealtimes," she tossed over her shoulder. Not that it mattered one bit, but she couldn't resist the dig.

"Really? Are you sure?" His wide eyes made him look impossibly young and innocent, and she wasn't buying it for a minute.

"Keep it up, and you'll soon be one of Peter's favorites."

"I'm pretty sure Peter hates me."

"He doesn't hate you, he's just very...German. Seriously, I don't cook for myself, but if I have to feed a guest, I'll cook. Therefore, I eat 'better,'" she paused long enough to do air quotes with her fingers, "and he's happier."

She determined the fish was done and smoothly lifted it from skillet to plate, then turned to push the plate across to Methos.

"So it should be considered a service to show up at mealtimes?" Methos, not happy he had to concede victory about Amanda, shot Amy a glance. "I'll have to remember that. You know, I haven't cooked for myself since 4 AD and I was a..."

"Shut up and eat, old man." Amy chuckled and leaned on her elbows, waiting for him to start. "It's fortunate for you the guys were here to force me into having real food around. Actually, you're lucky I can cook fish. All of Peter's leftovers are gone now."

"Do I really want to try this?"

"Hey! Fish may be about the only thing I cook, but I do it well!" She waved the spatula threateningly under his nose and glared.

He grinned at her and picked up the fork. With the first bite in his mouth, Amy turned and began cooking for herself. As she waited for the fish to cook thoroughly, she brought up a question she hoped wasn't too sensitive.

"Are you going to quit giving Mac the silent treatment any time soon?"

Methos gave her a cold stare then rolled his eyes at her back as he answered. "Did he put you up to asking me?"

"No. I'm tired of being in the middle, making sure you two don't accidentally meet in my hallway, or whatnot. I think you hurt his feelings, you know."

"He's Immortal. He'll survive." Methos answered dryly. "And maybe next time he won't dump strangers on my doorstep."

"That makes no sense. You're upset with Mac for bringing us over without permission, so you won't even talk to him. But, here you are, sitting in my apartment every day, eating my food."

Opening his eyes, to make the Adam Pierson facade complete, he beamed innocence and dodged the topic. "If you need someone to sit here and make sure you feed yourself, why should I have to cook while you look for a volunteer more suitable than I?"

Laughing, she let his lack of a real answer slide. Amy soon moved her own dinner to a plate and leaned against the island to eat. Guessing he was bursting with new questions, since he hadn't asked any during the last couple meals they shared, she opened the door for him. "So, what questions have you been saving up? Spill."

"Alright, then. I can sense you, if you let me. Can you sense Immortals?"

"What? You don't like the idea of a whole new group of people knowing what you are and being able to identify you? Why ever not?"

"Girl, do you realize that once you would have been stoned for your impertinence alone?"

She simply smiled while continuing to stare at him. Methos' self-preservation instinct started to rev back up, his inner voice was demanding to bolt out the door, new experiences and excitement be damned. On the other hand, the calm voice of Adam Pierson was begging to verify what the creature across from him was. After so much frustration while searching his journals, Methos had finally located the passage he wanted, refreshing the memory that had been taunting him. He was not going to leave until he had confirmed it with her, even if it meant ignoring his instincts.

"Amy, you didn't answer."

"Moi? Not answer? No, you just missed it." Faced with his glare, she caved and answered - something she had intended to do anyway. "Don't give me that look. No, I can't sense you the way you do other Immortals. It's a one way thing and I don't understand it, nor do I plan to dwell on it anytime soon so no, I can't tell you why."

"You aren't surprised I know Amanda?"

Amy raised her eyebrows, the very picture of innocence. "Oh, I was supposed to be surprised? I'll remember that and display the appropriate level of surprise next time."

"I'm having a hard time guessing how you ever manage to irritate your brothers so much." Methos shot back at her while pushing his empty plate across the counter.

Amy wagged her eyebrows with a toothy grin before turning to put their plates in the sink. She grabbed a beer out of the fridge for Methos, sliding it across without removing the lid first.

Amy stayed by the kitchen, leaning back on her elbows against the island. Methos took her spot on the couch with a cheeky grin, facing her across the small room.

"Back to Amanda," he began after he opened his beer and took a long swallow. "How did you meet her?"

"Mac, of course."

"Of course. And you two actually get along?"

"Quite well. And for the record, you met her in which year did you say?" She widened her eyes and had an irritatingly nonchalant tone to her voice, in perfect imitation of Adam Pierson.

"None of your business. How can you get along? She's dark and sex and, and you're -"

"Not." She flatly finished for him.

At least he had the grace to stammer a bit. "I was going to say light and innocence."

Amy threw her head back and laughed. "I haven't been accused of being innocent in… well, ever."

"I meant that you're complete opposites!" Methos blurted, attempting a recovery.

Amy, however, wasn't going to allow him to bow out gracefully. Not too quickly, anyway. "You mean she's not afraid to use sex to get her way."

"Yes, but I meant she doesn't usually play nice with other girls."

"I'm hardly competition for her, am I? Therefore, we can get along."

"You are going to keep taking what I say the wrong way, aren't you?"

Amy silently nodded her head while grinning. Methos gave up on trying to dig himself out of the hole and waited for her to restart the conversation.

"Adam, it's hardly personal. First, I regularly have people mistake me for being sixteen, if I'm lucky enough that they guess that old! And that's okay because, second, I'd far rather be underestimated and unremembered." She lifted an eyebrow and suddenly her eyes bored directly into his. Methos once more saw a flash of _knowing_. "Something I'm sure Adam Pierson knows nothing about."

Methos suppressed the shiver down his spine. Did she realize how much of a mask Pierson was?

"Besides," she continued, "how does it serve me to stand out? Has it ever made life easier for you? Even Mac, for all he's stupid about not changing his name, tries to blend as best he can with what's around him."

"Were you were brought up by an Immortal?"

"Nah. Sensei is a Navy Seal, retired. Although, I still think he was actually CIA because his training was more like being in spycraft classes." She paused for a moment, then gave voice to the thought that had popped up. "Maybe it's because we're hunted."

Responding to to the puzzlement on his face, Amy continued. "Mac and I have some similar habits, and you and I seem to have some similar traits. I wonder if it's because we're hunted."

"You are hardly hunted like -"

"Have you already forgotten why, exactly, Mac dropped us at your door? I'm hunted by psychopaths that don't think they need my permission to experiment on me. It's not exactly the same as a headhunter coming after you, but avoiding them both leads to the same lifestyle."

Methos sneered at the idea they were alike. "An Immortal's life is a violent one and just because you've been hunted by a few crazy people and watched MacLeod take a couple of heads, you're hardly qualified to understand my life, let alone live it."

Instead of backing down, Amy pressed her point and raised the stakes. "Sometimes I look in your eyes and I feel like I'm looking in the mirror."

"What?" Methos choked on the swallow of beer he had just taken.

"You have a lot of years on me, and I'm sure you have a much higher body count, but we've got the same - something - in our eyes. You've killed, and not just for survival. You enjoyed it."

If ever in his life Methos had felt like his heart would stop, this was it. Long years of practice kept his face calm, though his mind was racing. "You think you can see this?"

"I know I can," she stated simply and flatly.

How could a child come so close to the truth of the matter? In fact, how could a child manage to make him so uncomfortable twice in such a short space of time without seeming to try? If she had done anything remotely like this while staying in his apartment, Adam Pierson would have vanished, never to be seen again.

Refusing to respond, Methos stood, stretched, and walked towards Amy as if he were going to get another beer. Instead of moving on to the fridge, he paused when they were shoulder to shoulder, lifting a hand and pulling it through her hair, unbound for once and laying around her face.

He had finally stumbled into the correct journal just last night and he didn't stop reading and rereading the pages until the sun had reappeared in the eastern sky. Memories returning in a flood kept him wide awake, including the story he had been told by another Immortal when he was a young Immortal himself. He wanted to check the physical description he had been given then against Amy now, and he wasn't going to give her the chance to dodge the question or provide a smart-assed answer.

The flash in his eyes made Amy tense. She had allowed him to come too close and now she was at a terrible disadvantage if he chose to attack. Her heart began thudding against her ribcage, while she forced herself to hold still, carefully tracking his eyes, her legs and arms tensed to respond in an instant. Watching him lean down to her face, his eyes darkening, an image flashed in her mind. A rabbit, held by a wolf, watching death come closer.

_What did I just do? _She had let herself become too comfortable in his presence. The shadow she saw behind his eyes had come to the front and it was dangerous.

That shadow hadn't been surprised by her knife at his neck the previous week. That shadow was five thousand years old, and had merely allowed her to think she could surprise him. Compulsively, she swallowed.

Leaning down, Methos noticed Amy's eyes widen and felt the tremor of tension pass through her. He noted the flash of fear in her eyes, the first she'd shown in his presence. Taking her chin in his other hand, he bent even closer, and made her submit to a careful examination as he turned her head this way and that. The hand in her hair pushed the waves out of the way, revealing the slightly pointed tips she always hid. Ear and eyebrow shape were only possibilities, the contacts in her eye could be hiding their true color. None of this was conclusive evidence.

"Adam, I'm very aware I'm an oddity. You could just ask." Amy fought the tremor in her voice with everything she had. His hand on her chin took too much control away, and she fought off the memory of other hands on her chin several years before. Hands she had been delivered into; her first experience being the subject of experimentation.

Methos narrowed his eyes and remained silent. Over four thousand years ago real magic had still been alive in the world, but he had scoffed at the tale of a non-Immortal controlling the power of a Quickening even as he wrote it down. Today it seemed that the answer was standing in front of him after so long. One more thing...

Amy pushed the flashback away and denied her instinct to pull away and fight. Having Methos see the features she de-emphasized and covered up wasn't a problem; there were thousands, likely millions, of others with the same physical attributes. Even if he did happen to know enough to put it together, he could only know what the rest of the world already did. He could only know she carried a strange genetic anomaly.

Methos let go of her face and lifted her hands, bringing her bare arms up for easier inspection. Small, random scars dotted both arms, evidence of childhood clashes with trees, rocks, and concrete. Three or four larger scars likely showed where she had failed to adequately protect herself in sparring matches.

Noticing his attempt at intimidation had created the flash of fear, and that fear was tied to something far deeper than their conversation, Methos softened his voice with humor when he asked, "You forget to duck when sparring with MacLeod?"

"On the job injuries, mostly. Mac won't fight me with a blade." She snorted. "Something about being scared he'll hurt me."

Methos grunted, wondering if she carried similar scars across the rest of her body. Perhaps he was wrong in the assumptions he had begun building about her. How violent of a life was she accustomed to living? Letting go of one arm, he ran his fingers down one particular scar. From elbow to wrist, the pale line divided the inside of her forearm, telling its story as plainly as its twin on her other arm. The tremor following his fingers and the shift in her eyes from suspicion to sadness merely confirmed he had read it correctly.

When his attention on _that_ scar, Amy nearly bolted. Unconsciously, she pulled against his grip and was immediately released.

Realizing his curiosity had taken over and he'd gone too far, Methos released her arms as quickly as her muscles tightened. He hadn't meant to pry that deeply or actually frighten her. He had hoped a little intimidation would encourage her to quit dodging his questions. He took her chin - more gently this time - and made Amy look directly at him. It was time for the last test.

She was not prepared for the words that flowed out of his mouth.

The Ancient had taught him a unique language many, many years ago and it had been hundreds of years since he had been able to practice the language with anyone else. His tongue felt stiff, and his pronunciation and syntax were improper to start. He had to repeat the question before Amy understood him. "No more games. What are you and where do you come from?"

Amy's eyebrows, drawn together with the first words, flew up, her eyes wide with recognition as Methos repeated himself. She couldn't breathe and the room was spinning. She staggered back a step before catching herself on the counter. He may as well have punched her. She would have been more prepared for a physical blow. No one outside of her family should know those words.

She answered in the same language. "How.. how can you... How do you know the language of my kind?"

That quickly, Amy confirmed the crazy rumor he had been told almost 4500 years ago hadn't been a rumor. It was the truth then, and it was the truth now. "Have you ever heard of The Ancient?"

"Would that be the one who...changed...Darius? Only about that much."

His head dipped in assent. "He was the oldest of all, ancient even before I had taken my first head."

"The Ancient taught you the language of my people? Who taught him?"

"He told me an ancient guardian, far more ancient than he, taught it to him when he was young. He named this guardian...Elf. So one more time. What are you and where do you come from?"

Amy stood in stunned silence, seemingly forgetting his presence. Her mind was too busy running through what she had been told and what she had read for herself in the Elven histories. There had been no mention of the Immortals, let alone interaction between the two races. Did the Guardians - the Elves - simply not realize that Immortals were different? And how long had Elves actually continued to travel the Earth openly if they were meeting with the younger race of Immortals?

Wandering over to the couch, Amy dropped herself on it, still too far into her thoughts to pay attention to the waiting Immortal. What were the ramifications of an Immortal knowing? What was the simplest way to relate the story of her kind?

Methos stared at the back of her head.

Realizing one hand had been plucking at the air as if harp strings were under her fingers, Amy shook her head and chuckled at herself. "Apparently, I need a harp. But I really can't play it, so perhaps not."

She closed her eyes and tried to imitate the ancient bards with her speech pattern, since she couldn't imitate their music. "Sit and listen then to the genesis of The Guardians, children of Dagda, the Tuath De Da'an. Long ago, before humans were dreamed of, monsters ruled the earth -"

"Dinosaurs," Methos interrupted with a smirk, earning a glare from Amy as she gave up and simply told the basic outline of what she knew.

"Real monsters. Demons, dragons, the evil things that have become the nightmares of humans. They walked the earth, ruled it in blood and fire, and kept humans from claiming the home the Creator had made for them. So, the Elves were born. Tall, long-lived, powerful warriors given the purpose of wresting the earth from the grip of the monsters and making it again the beautiful garden it was created to be.

"The war was not easy. It took millennia for the monsters to be banished, and then more for the lush fertility of the ground to be regained. While battles continued to rage without, the Creator Dagda completed the first garden by placing humans within. As the entire globe became fertile and Man increased and spread, the Elves began their retreat to the edges of the world, still guarding against the demons trying to break through their barriers, hunting any that succeeded."

"Where do Immortals fit into this fable?" His narrowed eyes indicated he wasn't ready to believe Amy fully. Not yet.

"I don't know. The histories my people kept don't mention any who who could only be killed by decapitation. It makes me doubt The Guardian realized what The Ancient was when he taught him our language. But if not, what made him do so? Now, your turn. Tell me more about the The Ancient teaching you." She wasn't about to let him pretend he hadn't brought it up.

"I stayed with him for a while in my earliest travels. I think he hoped if Immortals shared a language, we could live together as a tribe, so he taught it to all he came across."

Amy quickly interrupted with a hand in the air. "Woah! How many other Immortals are running around speaking Elvish?" That was an entirely different situation than one old Immortal who could speak with her by chance.

"None that I know of. All of his students have been lost to the game."

"But what about their students?"

"It didn't seem so important to pass on a language. By the time I learned, the power of the Quickening had been discovered and headhunters were rising. What's the point of a common language among a people who have to be solitary?"

"But how can you know -"

"I can't, alright?" Methos' voice was sharper than he intended, but it covered the stab of loneliness. "But times I had been able to talk with other students of his, none of them had passed it along. Your turn again. You said the Elves are tall. You hardly -"

"Really? I give you practically carte blanche, and that's where you want to go?" Amy raised her eyes to the ceiling. "Fine. We'd mark it up to being a half-breed, but you've seen Peter and Paul. As far as we've been able to learn, I'm just not done growing yet. Back to you. It's more than just knowing the language. You were checking my ears, my eyes. Who else have you run into?"

"No one!" Adam Pierson began to protest.

"Oh no. There was someone else." Her finger wagged just under his nose and her eyes gleamed determination. "And something jogged your memory in the last day or two."

Methos stared at her a beat before telling her the truth - what he had written down so long ago. "Forty-five hundred years ago or so, another Immortal and I met in the Northwestern reaches of what became India, or thereabouts. He told me this crazy story about seeing a seven foot tall man in the Himalayas that was controlling Quickening power, only he hadn't taken a head, there was no dead body about, and it wasn't going into him, but seemed to be coming out. This giant had long pale hair, rather elongated, pointed ears, and his eyes looked to be glowing purple."

"But why did that connect with the language The Ancient taught you?" She wanted to know more, and was willing to share a little more herself, but a check of her watch let Amy know it wouldn't be tonight. She stood and returned to the island to pick up a little bit of black material, folded and waiting at the corner for her.

"Nope, your turn first. How is it nobody noticed Elves walking around then and where are they now?"

Amy stood by the counter, pushing her hands into the black material, and rolling it up her arms. She was listening, but the answer to that question was going to be difficult.

"Dammit girl, what are you doing?" Methos wasn't happy about being ignored.

"Putting on my sleeves."

He sputtered in irritation. He wanted his questions answered. "Your what?"

"My sleeves." Somehow or the other, she fastened the material to the shoulder straps of her armor, and he saw both arms had loops and pockets, similar to those on the armor. Some of those loops contained some rather suspicious looking tools. "I have a couple contracts to fulfill tonight, and I have to get a move on."

"You're trying to get out of finishing the discussion!"

"No, I'm trying to be on time. Look Adam, I promise we'll continue tomorrow, but I have to get going, ok?"

"No it's not. Especially if you're going back to this foolishness with Amanda!"

"Of course not!" Amy protested and Methos relaxed for a second. Until she continued, "That's next week. Tonight I have a client who thinks being on the 25th floor of Tour Descartes is protection. Time to disabuse them of that notion." She grinned while checking the small gear bag she would carry on her back. "Meanwhile, time for you to go."

"We finish tomorrow."

"We finish tomorrow," she promised while casually pulling out the 9mm at her back, checking its chamber, and returning it.

"They shoot at you?" Last week, Methos had re-evaluated his opinion of her self preservation instinct, but quickly readjusted it back to his initial impression. The girl was crazy.

"Sometimes."

"You shoot back?" Methos took his trench coat from Amy's outstretched hand and watched her shrug into her own jacket which easily covered her armor and gear bag.

"On occasion." Amy pushed Methos out the door before locking it behind them.

"And Amanda doesn't want in on this? I'm stunned."

"I know! Just because I won't let her keep anything." Amy grumbled while starting down the stairs. When they had reached the sidewalk, Methos showed no sign of simply walking away, so Amy gave him another small push. "I'll see you tomorrow. Come by about seven and bring pizza."

"Wait a minute, you're going to make me come back and I'm supposed to bring the food? What kind of host are you?"

"Good night, Adam!" Without looking back, she called over her shoulder with a casual wave while walking away.

Walking to get to work.

Walking to clear her mind.

Learning Methos could speak Elvish had rattled Amy badly and she couldn't allow it to interfere with her jobs tonight, or she would get hurt. His explanation made sense, but it wasn't enough. Tomorrow she was going to have to call her parents.

Not ready to give up on the problem so easily, Methos trailed Amy to the Metro station. Watching her stride down the dark sidewalk with a confident step, pulling her hair back into a ponytail, he speculated about how closely she would resemble an ancient Elf and what other gifts she might have. Off and on for millennia, he had mulled on the old rumor and fruitlessly searched for an answer. He wasn't thrilled about having to wait yet another day after finally finding it.

Amy seemed to be honest with him, even while not volunteering information, so he had hope she would answer every question. Could he really blame her for being reticent? Immortals had good reason for not trusting anyone and not talking about themselves, and she obviously had something that needed to be hidden. In that sense, she was right that they were similar.

With a sniff, and jamming his hands into his coat pockets, Methos began the walk back to his car. _Just one more day. I've lived this way for thousands of years. I guess I can wait one bloody more day._

* * *

**Next: **Une Petit Musique de Nuit


	5. Une Petit Musique de Nuit

NOTE: The title comes from Eine Klein Nachtmusik by Mozart. But they're in Paris, so it's appropriate, no?

* * *

**Une Petit Musique de Nuit**

* * *

Musick has charms to sooth a savage breast,  
to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.  
I've read, that things inanimate have mov'd  
And, as with living souls, have been inform'd,  
by magick numbers and persuasive sound.  
What then am I? Am I more senseless grown  
than trees, or flint? O force of constant woe!  
'Tis not in harmony to calm my griefs.

- William Congreve, The Mourning Bride

* * *

Methos had an appointment to keep, and nothing was going to stop him from getting there on time, including the irritating paperwork edicts that came down from on high within the Watchers. In particular, a memo from the Watcher's Library ancient documents curator, insisting that Adam Pierson would not be allowed to touch the third century BC Egyptian papyri until he had filled out a newly invented form - in septuplicate no less! - and included two pages of essay justifying his need to gain access as well as a list of specific Immortals he was attempting to cross-reference for the Methos Chronicle.

"Bloody bureaucrats," he muttered in his foul mood while grabbing the mail from his mail box. "I probably wrote half of what the little troll is trying to keep for himself, and now I can't even get to my own things when I want!"

He planned to drop his bag and mail inside his door before dashing back out to make it to Amy's place by seven. One envelope caught his eye as the papers hit the small table by the door. He paused long enough to open the envelope from America, and intrigued, he decided to follow its suggestion later that evening if there was time. After making the instructed phone call, he shoved the contents of the envelope into his coat pocket and drove to Amy's building.

The night before she had promised to continue answering his questions, and he was determined to make sure there were no interruptions tonight. Well, food was going to be a small problem. If he had to wait for a pizza to take with him, he wouldn't be there until after eight, and losing an hour was unacceptable. Amy was just going to have to go along with his plan of calling for delivery of some sort to be sent over.

And while they had to wait for supper, wouldn't it be a good opportunity to get the young woman to sit still and answer him? It seemed outrageous that she could be an Elf, a creature of fairy tales. Methos didn't like to believe in fairy tales, but he had also never been given a reason to doubt The Ancient who had claimed firsthand knowledge of Elves. And then there was Amy's own reaction, which had been too flabbergasted to be an affectation.

As he ascended the stairs, Methos wondered about the faint crashing and yelling he could hear down the stairwell. It sounded like a typical lover's spat, but the old building had been quiet on every other occasion he had dropped by. Taking the last step, it became clear the cacophony was coming from behind Amy's door. With rising concern, Methos pulled his silenced handgun out of his coat. Keeping it by his side, he slid up to the door and put his hand to the knob, listening to the ruckus coming through the old wood.

A scream of rage immediately followed by shattering glass encouraged Methos to shove the unlocked door open with his gun ready. Seeing Amy to his right, one arm cocked over her head, he swung to the left and aimed at -

Nothing.

She was alone.

Methos sidestepped quickly into the apartment, shutting the door and pocketing his gun at the same time.

Amy stared at him, lowering the plate that had been over her head. He studied her tear-streaked red face, anger plainly etched in the set of her mouth and eyes. Fragments of dishes littered the floor between the kitchen and the bedroom door.

"New fashion in decorating I haven't heard of?"

Without breaking eye contact, she launched the plate from her hand with a sharp motion, followed immediately by a single globe of light that made the plate explode when they met. Scorched shards of tempered glass rained to the carpet.

Methos swallowed thickly and forced his face to stay blank. "Yes, I can see it being effective against burglars if they happen to be marauding barefoot hippies. Right, you're too young to know any hippies."

"Funny." She spoke quietly, breathing heavily from her exertions. "This may not be the best night for you to be here."

"Are you overloading again? Is that really a reason for a temper tantrum?"

She shook her head sharply, staring at the small stack of surviving dishes, trying to decide if she dared throw any more.

"We're both too old to play guessing games. What's going on?" He was irritated, learning she didn't seem to be above the ridiculous mind games women seemed to enjoy.

Amy finally let her shoulders and back relax, and Methos decided it would be safe for him to grab the trashcan and help clean up. She stepped around the island and with a couple quick motions of her hands, glass pieces rose from the carpet and flew into the trashcan Methos held. He managed to keep hold only because he had spent so many centuries perfecting the skill of non-reaction as he assessed a situation. Unless his life was in immediate danger, of course.

Her floor now safe for walking, wearing off the remainder of her agitation through non-destructive pacing seemed like a good idea. "Tell me, what purpose am I supposed to see in our gifts?"

He had no answer for her, so he put the trashcan back in place gingerly and waited for Amy to continue.

"Oooo, lookit me, I can make a pretty light show." She held her hand out and kept her eyes on the few globes of colored light that rose from her palm. "Big damn deal!" She yelled while sweeping her hand down so the globes flew across the room to burst at his feet, allowing light and heat to dance across the floor.

It wasn't easy, but he didn't flinch.

"Okay?"

"I'm sorry. I just - I learned a friend is dying and Peter can't stop it, so I'm a little angry today."

"Tell me about it?" Methos settled himself on the couch, mindful that his body language project non-threatening calm while his instincts were screaming for him to get out.

Amy stood at the wall of windows, hugging her arms.

"She's the only girl friend I've ever had, and I called Peter, begging him to heal her. 'It doesn't work that way,' he tells me." Her sneering voice mocked her older brother. "He calls himself a healer, but he can't take it away! What's the point of our powers if - What's the fucking point?!" She flung her arms out and her anguished cry tore through the space of her tiny apartment.

Her pacing in front of the wall of glass brought to mind an agitated tiger in its cage. Methos wondered if she realized her hands were still sparking as she resumed travelling back and forth.

"Is this the first time you've had to deal with the death of a close friend?" He gently asked.

"I've lost friends and family, violently, peacefully, to war, to old age." Her shoulders sagged and her eyes filled with tears again. "But I've never had to watch them waste away and ask why we have these so-called gifts, and the one time I think there's a purpose - they're worthless!"

"Then you already know life brings death, and death brings pain."

"Does it ever get easier to live with?"

The silent shake of his head brought fresh tears of despair to her eyes.

"Death, especially of those we care about, it's the one thing in life we just have to accept."

"I don't like this, I don't want to feel it anymore!" It felt like pain was the only thing left to her. When would it become too much?

"As long as you can feel pain because life is lost, you're still human. When people stop feeling that pain, that's when they turn into monsters."

Amy's head snapped around to glare at Methos. Her fists clenched at her side, blue sparks snapping away from her hands more quickly than before.

"She dies so I can be a human again? That's the most ridiculous reason I've ever heard!"

"I didn't say that's _why_ your friend is dying. I said being able to feel the pain of her loss means you're not the monster you seem to think you are sometimes."

Seeing Amy crumple, Methos made the first move. He stepped to her side and pulled her close as she wailed, "It's not fair!"

"It never has been," he whispered.

Clinging to him, Amy cried out her anger and helplessness, screaming and sobbing, even beating on his back, until she was empty.

As Methos looked out the windows over her head he contemplated the many friends to whom he had said goodbye through the years. The pain at each individual death never did lessen, but years dulled the sharp pain to an ache and, eventually, even the ache lost its power to the happy memories that reasserted their dominance. Seeing the roofs of Paris, his mind wandered to the changes he had witnessed in the city as it grew from mud huts on a river bank, to a medieval powerhouse, to the teeming metropolis it was today. Change.

Everything changes.

Especially the mortals who had become a part of his life. None lasted for more than a flash compared to his great age. Methos found it easier to remember how much they had influenced and molded him rather than the shortness of time they had lived. Otherwise, not their passing, but his living became painful to contemplate. If he could, he would teach Amy to do the same. But later.

Tonight was for grieving and releasing.

At last she sagged against him, voice quieted and tears drained. Methos guided her to the couch where he eased her into the corner before stepping to the fridge and opening two beer bottles. He brought one more thing with him back to the couch.

Her violin.

He set it in the coffee table in front of her and handed her one of the bottles before easing into the opposite corner. Amy stared at the closed case with dull eyes, neither reaching for it nor rejecting it.

"You've been carrying this around since we met, and I haven't seen you play once."

"I can't make music this angry."

"Music has charms to sooth a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted Oak - "

Amy interrupted, skipping to the lines she felt were more relevant. "O force of constant woe! 'Tis not in harmony to calm my griefs."

"Try it anyway," he gently prodded.

She took a long pull from the beer bottle before setting it next to the violin case. With trepidation her fingers reached for the latches and flipped them open with a quick metallic sound. The raised lid revealed a violin of average appearance, wear showing on the chin rest and up the fingerboard. It had been used, not abused, but also not cared for especially well.

Seemingly satisfied that it wouldn't bite, Amy gently lifted the violin out and cradled it in her lap. Her fingers felt the length of the strings, searching for flaws before they moved on to caress the wood, remembering the mentor who willed her this particular violin for the purpose of remembering him and sharing the music he loved, and she had refused to carry out that wish.

She'd kept the violin close, but had not played it since receiving it. Released from its sarcophagus, the old Stradivarius called to her, begging to be played. It had been too long. She lifted the bow out of the case and settled the instrument loosely against her shoulder, tuning it and warming up her fingers.

She launched into a tune Methos didn't recognize, though he felt that he should. The pattern quickly revealed itself to be a Cajun jig, popular the last time he was in New Orléans over a hundred years ago, intertwining with a traditional Irish ballad. Amy opened her eyes and looked at him, using the lift of her eyebrow to ask, "do you understand this is me?" while still playing.

Once she saw Methos nod, she proceeded to tell her story without words. She introduced a more calm melody - an old Appalachian spiritual - and allowed it and the jig to become acquainted and play with each other, trading dominance back and forth. Methos nodded again, when she looked to see if he still followed. Then sadness encroached.

Her fingers flew and the bow pounded against the violin's strings as overpowering rage took over before diminishing, allowing sadness to once again dominate. Then rage diminished and sadness once again dominated as the Cajun and the Spiritual continued to twist and blend. Eventually, the constant use of minor notes diminished as Amy returned to the original Cajun/Irish mix. But the melody was changed, for even as it regained its joy, a hint of the spiritual could be heard and minor notes occasionally intruded.

After her bow calmed and the music faded, Amy stared out her windows while cradling the violin on her lap.

"What then am I? Am I more senseless grown than trees, or flint?" she whispered.

It took music to make her stop and accept what she already knew. It wasn't fair that she expected to live for so long while her friends would die around her, but it would happen. She would grieve, and sometimes she would be angry, but death was part of life and there was no stopping it. She would go on, and she would never be exactly the same because of the friendship they had shared.

Amy moved to the coffee table where she could sit in perfect form while looking out the windows. Tucking the violin under her chin just so, she began to play a somewhat somber selection from Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto in D Minor. When she completed that, she chose another piece, and then another. Somber, light, contemplative, happy, angry, she played through every emotion roiling through her, whether consciously realized or not.

For nearly two hours she provided a concert for Methos and - through the walls - some of the other residents as well. The bow slowly drew the last note out, letting it linger with a feather touch, and she was calmed at last.

Methos watched her quietly, wondering if she realized that the distance she kept between herself and the rest of the world disappeared while she was playing.

When Amy felt the churning chaos inside herself still, she knew it was time to let the violin rest again. In the morning she would tend to the strings and inspect the bow. Tonight she would wipe it down, thanking it for its sound, letting it know it was cherished once more.

* * *

**NEXT:** Sleep and Run

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THE PLAYLIST: A few of the pieces that helped write this chapter. Yes, you should assume these are some of what Amy was playing.

Tchaikovsky

- Violin Concerto in D, Opus 35: Il Canzonetta (Andante)

- Souvenir D'un Lieu Cher, Op 42: III. Melodie in E-flat

Rachmaninoff

- Vocalise, Op 34 No 14

Loreena McKennitt

- Tango to Evora (album, The Visit)

Brahms

- Hungarian Dance No 1

Ravel

- Tzigane

Ponticello (Album: Violin Music Sampler)

- Creole Fantasie 2 Step

- Black Ice Jig

Beethoven

- Violin Romance #2


	6. Sleep and Run

Thank you all for stopping by!

* * *

**Sleep and Run**

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**Last Night**

After playing her violin until her raging emotions could calm, Amy discovered she was exhausted and they both had forgotten about supper. Too late to easily find carry out in the decrepit neighborhood, Methos had gone to the stove and made spaghetti, raising his eyebrow at the jarred sauce he found in a cupboard.

Amy laughed softly, "I warned you I never have fresh stuff!" The sauce was dumped over the cooked noodles without another word.

Not sure she would have been able to manage dinner with her shaking hands, she gratefully stayed on the couch, oiling her old violin.

The remainder of the night passed into the wee hours of the morning as they sat on opposite ends of the couch, talking. Gentle waves of conversation that ebbed and flowed between Amy and Adam in stark contrast to the raging emotion of earlier. Methos, for once in his life, even willingly told the truth - a little - as they discussed friendships and their lifelong influence. He did make sure he only told one story for every three of Amy's.

Secrets remained, answers hadn't been given, but the air seemed to have changed.

* * *

**This Morning**

The sky was showing the first blush of the morning when Methos awoke due to a stiff pain in his neck. Checking his watch with bleary eyes he saw it was just after six, and he wondered how long it had been since he had slept in such an uncomfortable position. The Spanish Inquisition was the first thing that came to mind, followed quickly by terrible memories of long stagecoach journeys in the nineteenth century. Sleeping in a half-lounging pose was never nice to one's neck, no matter the century or how soft the couch. This couch had been built without concern for comfort.

Waiting for his muscles to unlock so he could gingerly stretch, Methos let his thoughts drift to the night before and found himself irritated. He had come expecting learn how Elves could be real and walking the earth. Instead he had walked into a maelström of emotion that involved energy explosions, a telekinetic display, and an impromptu concert.

There had been no choice at the time but to allow Amy to work through her all-consuming grief before expecting that she would be capable of considering anything else. Now that morning was here, it was his turn. She would answer his questions. First and foremost - how many like her and her brothers were running around out there?

Carefully righting his head, and slowly moving his locked knees off the coffee table, he noticed Amy at the other end in an equally painful-looking position.

As if his thoughts were audible, Amy stretched and groggily blinked down the couch at him. "Morning. Or isn't that what it was when we fell asleep?"

"Something like that." It had been almost three the last time he looked at his watch.

"It's been forever since I crashed on the couch like this." She carefully pulled her own feet off the coffee table and stood, stretching and testing her muscles before attempting to move at her typical speed.

Methos had a moment of guilty gratification at the thought she was as stiff and sore as he was.

Amy staggered into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. "I'll start coffee if you want to take the bathroom first. There should be a spare toothbrush still in a package in there somewhere."

"Are you trying to say something?"

"Who's tryin'? I'm sayin'. I don't care how Immortal you are, it does not protect you from morning breath!"

With a small snort he agreed, stretching out the last stiff muscles as he vanished behind the curtain installed to separate the kitchen from the tub and toilet.

With the coffee brewing, Amy moved into her bedroom to change clothes and grab the few things she would need. The germ of idea had formed in her mind as she fell asleep, and she was going to act on it.

When Methos reappeared from behind the curtain feeling fresher, but still rumpled and groggy, Amy was at the island, downing coffee as quickly as she could, her violin and laptop on the counter and duffel bag at her feet. She pushed a filled mug towards him, and he gratefully accepted its warmth.

"Going somewhere?"

"First flight back to the States I can get."

"Running from something?" Methos' eyes narrowed with suspicion. After all, if their roles were reversed, he would have been on the first flight to Tahiti rather than divulge the information he wanted her to share.

Amy shook her head over her cup. "When I came to Paris this time, it was supposed to be for a week. Bring Mac some important stuff he'd had to leave behind because of his sudden relocation - Kalas, you recall - and get some space from the guys. It's been months now, and I have too much distance from my other friends."

"You're going back to say goodbye to your friend."

"I'm going back to treasure every minute we've got." Even though he understood, Methos' eyes remained narrowed. Amy knew what he was thinking. "I'm not dodging you. We will finish our conversation."

"When do you think that might be?" Adam Pierson might be sympathetic to her reasoning, but Methos had been put off once already with the promise of an answer.

"I keep my promises. I'll be back." She smiled, "Maybe I'll buy you a pizza."

"With quadruple meat to make up for that abomination you call spaghetti sauce!"

"You're the one that said you could cook."

"Fresh! It must be fresh, not from a can that been looks like it's been made to survive nuclear war!"

Amy laughed, remembering the face he pulled while dumping the sauce over the noodles. Her mind drifted over more of the previous night's events. They hadn't spoken of her tantrum or its reasons again, but Methos had offered comfort by staying, reminding her to focus on the love instead of the loss. And perhaps there was now a step towards understanding. Well, Amy thought so. Even if not, it gave her hope that she might be able quit feeling like a bug under his microscope.

A throat clearing next to her ear pulled Amy out of her contemplation and back to the morning. Methos stood next to her with the coffee pot, offering a refill. She eagerly held her cup out, knowing massive amounts of caffeine were going to be the only thing keeping her awake for the rest of the long day ahead.

Methos wasn't ready to let her leave before they had the promised discussion. "I understand wanting to get to a friend's side when you learn their death is coming, but will three hours, or even twenty-four, really make a difference?"

"Yes, and I've already missed the first flight of the day. Look, at the most, I have to be back here in four weeks and we'll finish then."

"A month! You expect me to -" Methos stopped himself quickly. His fingers were twitching, moving towards the small of his back, anticipating the feel of his knife. He re-tightened his self-control and relaxed his shoulders back into the slump of Adam Pierson.

"I could make you wait until she dies," she chided softly. "I'll call you as soon as I'm back. If you think you need to track me down, you have my number, or you can call Joe."

Methos closed his eyes momentarily so Amy wouldn't see his irritation. Having been promised answers, he was not happy to be put off once again.

He stood to the side, watching her wash the coffee cups and pot and make sure her trash was all collected and ready to carry out. When she ducked behind the curtain to brush her own teeth, Methos had a moment of charity that led him to carrying the trash bag to the chute one floor below. On the way back up the stairs, he paused to nod politely at Amy's downstairs neighbor, Madame Martin, peering out her door at him.

The nearly deaf widow beamed back at Methos. Her propensity to gossip had inadvertently prepared him for the door to be answered by an over-protective brother at his second visit, and he was very appreciative. He had given Madame Martin a small bunch of flowers on his third visit to Amy's apartment. Ever since then, she had only smiles and approval for him which suited Methos just fine. After all, someone thoroughly charmed by Adam Pierson would more readily share information and observations without realizing what they were doing.

With another nod and wave at Mdm Martin, he went back up the stairs and stepped back into Amy's apartment.

Surprise lit her face when Methos stepped back inside the door. Amy was assuming he had let himself out, and wasn't happy about leaving town with the air of distrust that had begun to mar the morning. Amy could tell he had become irritated, and she didn't want to leave town with this air of distrust now between them. While brushing her teeth she had thought of something that might help, while not relinquishing too much.

Methos misunderstood the flash in her eyes and responded snidely. "Thought you'd gotten rid of me?"

She slung the violin and computer bag straps over her head and stepped towards the door, duffel bag in hand. "No, I'm glad you didn't leave yet." She held the small duffel out to Methos who looked at her with his eyebrows drawn together. "Would you keep this for me?"

He slowly reached out and took the handles. "What's in here?"

Amy smiled at his caution. "Just weapons, extra armor. Things I can't carry on and don't want to check. Keep them safe 'til I get back?"

"This is supposed to be my hostage to make you come back? Do you really think weapons mean that much to me?"

"No, I would appreciate a small favor so I don't have to leave it here unprotected."

"And you're trusting me to not sell that armor to some company that would pay handsomely for secret technology?"

With a sly smile, she pushed him backwards out her door and joined him. "I'm very tempted to dare you."

Methos motioned her to lead the way down the stairs, no longer surprised by her foolhardy acquiescence. _But then, if I could make plates explode, would I really worry about what other people could do to me? _His fingers unconsciously strayed to his own neck. _I'm glad she wants to be friends._

He began adding items to his mental list of questions, distracting him enough that he bumped into Amy's back before realizing she had stopped and was now talking to her downstairs neighbor.

Amy could well imagine what was running through Methos' head. She was still stunned he had looked her up, and kept coming back, even knowing what kind of freak MacLeod had brought to his home. But, she was glad. She drove her brothers batty with her apparent need to make friends everywhere she went, and she wasn't going to stop. Especially after meeting someone as intriguing as Methos.

Distracted by her thoughts, Amy was startled when the door she was passing opened. Guiltily pulling her hand away from the small throwing knife tucked in her hair, Amy cleared her throat and recovered her balance from Methos bumping into her.

"Bonjour, Aimée!"

"Bonjour, Madame Martin." She returned the greeting with a smile and the two women continued chatting in French with Methos politely listening in as he stood beside Amy.

"Ah, but it is good to see you finally have a young man stay with you! This is your boyfriend?"

"No! Madame Martin, this is my friend Adam. We just stayed up so late last night, we fell asleep."

"Too bad, he's cute. You need a lover, little Aimee and he looks like he'd be a good one!"

Amy's mouth fell open and she barely managed to stammer out, "Madame!" as her cheeks flamed dark red. Perhaps if she just jumped over the stair rail now...

Just behind Amy's shoulder, Methos ducked his head and swallowed a snicker at her discomfiture. While he had managed to shock her completely with his knowledge of Elves, he had failed every attempt to get this kind of reaction. Madame Martin had just succeeded spectacularly.

"I may be an old woman, but I still remember being young! You need to be a woman, Aimee. When you are not hiding up there, you mind les enfants and visit with the old people in this building. Get out and find yourself a man! Live! Do not hide here with us, but enjoy your life!"

"Madame! I do not hide, I just happen to enjoy my neighbors. The children are sweet..."

"Phht. You need to have your own babies. The children you two could make together..."

"MADAME!" Amy had no greater wish at that moment than for a dimensional portal to randomly open up and take her in it. If that couldn't happen, that four storey jump down the stairwell was looking more and more appealing.

Adam Pierson blushed and ducked his head. Methos, on the other hand, could hardly contain the laughter that threatened to burst forth. Amy could blush darker still and be rendered speechless, after all. It was something he found oddly pleasing to know.

Madame Martin continued, as if she were oblivious to their reactions. "I am an old woman, but I still remember when my beloved Edmond and I met. We thought we were simply friends, studying together, but -"

With a glare at Methos for not helping her get away from Mme Martin, Amy interrupted before she got too carried away in her memories. "Madame, I am so sorry to interrupt, but I have to get to the airport. My flight is..."

"Yes, yes," she waved her hand. "An old lady rambles while the young have much to do. Are you going to make sure she comes back to us, Monsieur Pierson?"

"Oh, I'll make sure she keeps her promise, Madame." Methos smiled thinly at Amy's raised eyebrow. Oh yes, she understood exactly what he meant.

"Au revoir, Aimee."

"A la prochaine, Madame Martin!" Amy leaned around her neighbor's walker, careful to keep her two bags from knocking it around, and kissed Mme Martin on her thin cheeks before waving goodbye and rushing down the stairs.

Methos bowed to the old woman, winning a large smile from her, and ambled down the stairs behind Amy, grinning from ear to ear. For the way she managed to make Amy blush and stumble this morning, he owed Mdm Martin four dozen roses. He would personally deliver them after escorting Amy to the airport.

* * *

**Next: **Flirting in Dark Alleys


	7. Flirting in Dark Alleys

**A/N:** I need to pause for a moment and give CameoCat & FanLass a huge "thank you" for reading, arguing characters, pointing out plot holes, and more. Even at crazy hours of the night!

And thank YOU, dear reader, for reading. It's highly appreciated. I'd love to hear your thoughts; just hit that cute little "review" button down there!

* * *

**Flirting in Dark Alleys**

* * *

**THREE WEEKS LATER….**

"Adam! Adam Pierson!" A female voice tore through the misty Parisian air, causing every person in the area to swivel their heads toward the source quickly, raising their eyebrows in disbelief.

Inwardly, Methos groaned at the scene the woman was about to create. Outwardly, Adam Pierson's face showed blank puzzlement. The students - Archeology undergrads to whom he was in the middle of explaining a finer point of Sumerian grammar - stood with slack jaws and wide eyes. They desperately wanted to know how shy, awkward, clumsy Pierson managed to have a woman calling to him with such glee. An obviously successful, good-looking, career woman in a designer suit with a long skirt, lacy blouse, and very high heels.

With detached amusement, Methos imagined their reactions if Amanda were the one approaching. Amanda, who exuded and used sexuality as effectively as any weapon and enjoyed an audience, would probably cause something on the order of strokes. Instead, they were held speechless by Amy who typically worked to project an image that encouraged eyes and attention to simply slide past her without pause or second thought. Amy, whom he had only seen clothed in bulky sweatshirts and jeans previously - well, other than that first glimpse, but that was a thought for another time.

He couldn't wait to hear the explanation for this. She hadn't told him she was back from the States, and the clothes were entirely out of character. He began to wonder just where, precisely, she was hiding the myriad of sharp things she'd confessed to carrying around under her typically over-sized clothes.

"My knight in shining armor! How are you?" Her French was flawless Parisian and her arms were outstretched as she approached. With her last two steps she grabbed his upper arms and stretched up to kiss him on both cheeks.

Adam's face blushed furiously and hunched his shoulders even deeper as the undergrads made strangled noises of jealousy and managed to drop their jaws even lower. Methos seriously considered throttling her the next chance she gave him. She was careless enough, he shouldn't have to wait too long.

"Knight in shining armor?" The one named Gaulivier was the first to recover his ability to speak.

"But of course, he rescued me when I was quite stuck and couldn't see a way out!"

Her eyes mooned up at him and Methos suppressed both a groan and a chuckle. She was positively gushing! So much for Amanda being the audience hound.

"Pierson? Really?"

The disbelief in the student's voices was so funny, Amy continued in the same manner. "Saved my life!"

She was still focusing on Methos and enjoying this game a little too well for his taste. Adam Pierson stammered his way through politeness, "So what brings you here?"

She linked her arm through his and managed to squeeze in the last millimeter of space between them until she was thoroughly wrapped around his left arm.

"Do you have time for a drink? I never did get to properly thank you." Her voice dropped in pitch just enough to convey unspoken promise as she played with a long silver pendant which rested in the deep 'v' of her neckline.

"I, I uh.." Adam looked at the other students for help. Methos was wondering how far she was willing to carry her little game.

"Go on, Pierson. It's not like you have another lecture today!" By unvoiced agreement, the other students quickly walked away, laughing, sure they were stranding him in an uncomfortable situation.

As soon as they were around a corner and out of sight, Amy let go of his arm and her eyes began dancing with the laughter that bubbled out of her throat.

Unconsciously still in French, Methos crossed his arms and glared at her. "What are you doing here, really?"

Amy switched back to English, slipping into her New Orleans drawl with her answer. "An old friend of my dad is a visiting prof this year, and I promised I would drop by his office." With a wave of his hand, Methos indicated her abnormal attire and she shrugged. "It's what he expects. At his age, it's better to just shut up and do it."

"You've been gone for three weeks, you didn't tell me you were coming back, and you expect me to believe you didn't plan this little scene?"

"I didn't even know I was coming back until last night, so I could hardly give you a heads up. I was on the way to the Metro and happened to see you over here. You just looked so serious I couldn't help myself."

"Are you so cruel to everyone or just me?"

"Oh, please. You can't tell me you wouldn't grab a chance to tweak MacLeod!"

He paused for a long moment, pretending he needed to carefully think that one through (she was right, after all) before he let his mouth turn down in amusement. "True, but doesn't he deserve it far more than I?"

Amy put her arm through his once more, standing at a much more decorous distance this time, and started walking. "Perhaps, but I wanted to know how Adam would react," she admitted. "So, are you really done for the morning? Where are we going for brunch?"

"You're buying, you pick."

She didn't bother to even roll her eyes at him, just worrying her lips lightly while considering the options. "I know! I was told about this absolutely fantastic Greek place that's not far away. We could even walk."

"When I was studying with Plato, I met a guy that could cook lamb in the most -"

"Oh no." She stopped and wagged a finger in his face. "Don't you even."

"What?" Again, he maintained the face of young innocence.

"Name dropping. Look, if you start telling me that you've been next to every major figure that happens to have survived history, I'm not going to believe that there can be that much coincidence, even with your rather extended life line."

"You're willing to assume I'm lying and miss out on knowing valuable truths?"

"I'm willing to take the chance of missing out on a couple truths so I don't have to analyze and doubt every word out of your mouth, yes."

"In short, you will be unimpressed."

"Yep." She popped the 'p' out of her lips before turning and continuing their stroll.

Amy was pretty sure he was muttering under his breath about "upstarts" and "know-it-alls" and "no respect," but when she tilted her head sideways just a little to look at him from the corner of her eye, he was smiling as they continued along the sidewalk, lightly arm in arm.

She was enjoying the warm morning and considering the etiquette of asking ancient Immortals personal questions when she noticed the increasing tension under her hand. His bicep twitched again. He was getting more nervous, but his eyes didn't have the unfocused look of one Immortal feeling the approach of another.

As she opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, Methos spoke first. "Tell me, do you get followed often?"

"Not typically, no. Why?"

"Friends of yours then?" Methos indicated with a tip of his head to a side street they were going to be passing in a moment and the figure loitering at the entrance.

He was tall, slightly taller than Methos, and his dark hair was kept in a shaggy cut that allowed it to flop across his forehead and over his collar. Across the street, stood another with the same attitude, grossly failing at his attempt to be inconspicuous.

"I was hoping they were yours."

"Me?" He was all wounded innocence. "I'm just a grad student, why would anyone be following me?"

"Sure," she drawled. "Those goons look more street gang or hired security to you?"

"Um, I'm not sure what -"

"Good point. Probably mafia." Her tone was so bland, she could have been choosing between two different coffees at a restaurant.

"What?!"

"But we've had an understanding. Surely he wouldn't…" Her eyes narrowed and she slipped her arm out of his so she could march across the street, intending to leave the Immortal behind.

"He who? What is -" He made an ineffectual grab for the back of her suit jacket. "Amy! What do you think you're doing?" He gave up and jogged after her.

"I don't know about you, but I like to know who's stalking me, and why." She didn't pause in her march across the street but picked up speed, growing more determined to get an answer, as her target flicked his cigarette away and quickly slipped into the alley.

Methos nervously checked over his shoulder at the goon across the street, and sure enough, he was headed their way. Not only was he not worried about his friend being spotted, it was likely they had expected a confrontation, and they had just been allowed to pick the ground. Fantastic. He quickly jogged after Amy again, not at all certain he wanted to help her out of this, and not seeing a way out for himself just yet.

Amy was already standing under the smoker's nose, removing her suit jacket so it could be hung from a bolt sticking out of the wall next to her. She spoke in a low voice that didn't carry back to Methos, though he easily imagined her eyes snapping with annoyance as she demanded to know the name of his employer. Methos slid closer to Amy and sideways towards the nearest building, painfully aware of the heavily muscled man coming up behind him.

The movement to her left drew Amy's attention and her eyes quickly flicked to Methos, then back. The momentary distraction was exactly what the dark-haired goon wanted. He grabbed at her chest and seized a large handful of lace on the front of her blouse. Amy jerked away quickly, tearing her blouse and stumbling into Methos who had put his back firmly against the nearest wall.

"Are you going to help?"

He pushed on her back so she was standing upright. "What am I supposed to do?"

Instead of answering, she simply made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat and went on the attack, completely ignoring the approach of the muscle behind her.

About the same height as Methos but a good forty pounds heavier, blond, crew cut, and muscles bulging under his t-shirt, the second goon had every stereotypical marker of being hired muscle. With any luck, he would be so confident in those over-developed muscles that he wouldn't be carrying any weapons. As the blond approached Methos with his hands flexed and ready, the Immortal shrank down into his coat, hands raised and pure panic on his face.

The blonde smirked at him and moved on, a coward like this not worthy of his attention until he had taken care of the main target. He moved directly behind Amy to grab her, and got one hand on her shoulder as she was delivering a high kick that missed, thanks to his interference.

The section of gas pipe, conveniently left in the alley, was almost perfect. Perfect would have been not being in a position where Adam Pierson would need to fight, but too late for 'would have' now. He hefted the pipe once to test its weight and position it correctly in his hand, then struck a good, solid blow right at the base of the skull. The heavy blonde released Amy and turned around in a daze. He was quickly dropped with a second blow across the side of his face, breaking his jaw.

Now free of the problem of having to avoid one thug while dealing with the other, Amy was able to dodge a heavy-handed swing and land two kicks directly to the solar plexus of the dark haired smoker, leaving him doubled over, breathless. She paused her attack long enough to grab a shoe off her foot, give it a small toss so she could hold it by the toe, then used its chunky heel to land a satisfyingly solid blow directly on his temple, and then a second one for good measure, putting him out of action.

Her back was to Methos, so she never noticed his eyes glittering with triumph as he examined the hired muscle he had laid low. Nor did she see the appreciation in those same eyes as he watched her efficiently take out the other threat with her shoe. In the seconds it took her to calmly slide her foot back into her pump and turn around, Adam Pierson's frightened face was looking at her.

"Can we get out of here, now?" He begged. Adam Pierson was not above begging.

She knew his intervention was the only way she could have gone from fighting off two muscled goons to only one so quickly, but to see his hands shoved in his jeans pockets, shoulders hunched, eyes wide, and breath coming quickly in panic, Amy had a hard time believing it. If she didn't already have an idea of how dangerous he could be, she would easily believe he really was just an awkward grad student only a few years older than she. As it was, Adam Pierson was a very tempting fantasy to fall into. He must be one of the best actors she would ever come across.

"Nice of you to join in." She crossed her arms and planted her feet while glaring at him.

"You were doing fine," he reassured her with a wave of one hand.

"He tore my blouse!"

"You've got to quit letting people get their hands on you. Easier to stay away than break away." He would never say it out loud, but her outrage was amusing. He couldn't help seeing how far he could push it, now that he was getting a rise out of her.

"And my skirt!" She had just realized her leg was exposed almost up to her waist by her skirt's seam splitting from her last kicks.

Methos, of course, had noticed this fact several moments ago when she turned around, and he found it rather funny. Not that he was going to let her know.

"That may have been preventable," he allowed.

"Fine. I'll only send you the bill for my skirt you jack -"

"I happen think it's an improvement." Methos was openly admiring the leg she couldn't cover.

"World's oldest man, phhtt." She muttered while digging for any kind of pin in her small purse. "More like the world's oldest lecher."

"I never claimed to be of outstanding character." Both hands were buried in his pockets again as he shrugged. She gave up on being able to pin the skirt closed with a snort of exasperation. "But if I were a real lecher, I'd suggest that you go ahead and cut the entire skirt off at the top of that rip. I'm sure I've got a knife you could use…"

She glared at him with her hands on her hips until Methos gave in and started laughing.

"Fine, I'll give you I deserved that one," she also started laughing. "Are we even, then?"

"We'll see."

Amy rolled her eyes at him and inspected one of her sleeves for a moment before using the split in her skirt to easily reach a small knife strapped to her inner thigh. With quick flicks of her wrist, one sleeve was removed from her blouse and tossed at Methos.

He was trying to decide whether or not she was the craziest female he'd ever come across. This little alley scene put her in a solid second place on the top ten list.

"You better wipe your prints off that pipe." She quickly finished ripping the ruffles off her blouse, shrugged back into her suit jacket and buttoned it up, put her small purse back on her shoulder, and with all the poise a girl can muster with an indecently high tear in her skirt, she took Methos' arm and stepped as close as she could, hoping the tear wouldn't be noticed as they walked.

"What? No brunch?" Methos stuffed the detached sleeve into her jacket pocket as they stepped back onto the main road and Amy turned them back from where they had come.

"Get me home so I can change and I'll buy you whatever you want, old man."

"So?"

"So, what?"

"So, were they mafia or street gang?" He didn't bother keeping the exasperation out of his voice.

"Oh. Hired thugs." Her fingers played with the pendant she wore, sliding it across its chain. "I stole something from their boss and they were sent to get it back."

"You what?"

"It came to my attention that some rather important information was about to be available in the marketplace, and he was responsible. Before he could sell it, I retrieved it. Obviously, he wants it back."

"It's that necklace isn't it?"

"Well, the microfilm that's in it, really. I think it's time for the necklace and I to make a quick trip to Zurich. Introduce it to my safe deposit box. Want to come?"

Methos looked at her, astounded. "Are you completely crazy?"

She shrugged lightly. "It could be quite…fun."

* * *

** Next:** A Road Trip


	8. Road Trip

**A/N: **Thank you, dear readers, for continuing to read. It does my heart good. PLEASE let me know how you feel, what you like, what you hate! I have a thick skin, I can take it :)  
A huge debt of gratitude belongs to my friends that helped me work through this chapter as a horrible case of writing block had me locked up. Especially to Fan Lass who listened to me whine about it quite often for the last 2 months!

**Story Note: **The lyrics interspersed through this chapter indicate a passage of time, sometimes only a moment, sometimes as much as an hour. Yes, you should assume the lyrics you read are songs playing in the car. (Credits can be found at the very end)

* * *

**A Road Trip**

* * *

Amy wanted to get out of town. She had promised to buy lunch for Methos, even though it was early, and she knew it would create a delay. She consoled herself with the fact that she would have to find food and caffeine for herself anyway.

Methos was considering using lunch as a means of revenge for being pulled into the fight in the alley, so while Amy changed from her ruined suit to comfortable jeans, he reviewed several of his options. The Taiwanese place which served mudskipper soup and bloodcake would torment her sufficiently, but his hunger and convenience won over retaliation. Instead, he insisted on a small bistro a few blocks from the Sorbonne.

She didn't blink at his choice. It was a favorite of the upscale tourist crowd, and that was reflected in its menu prices. She had been expecting something wild and exotic to exact retribution for getting caught in her fight. Amy would have kept her poker face on and not said a single word about it, but it was nice to be able to enjoy her food without having to willfully ignore what animal it had been.

It was a little more difficult to ignore the running stream of sarcastic commentary Methos managed to keep up from her apartment to the bistro. She knew he would want to know what was going on, but Amy had already decided it could wait until after they ordered.

"Alright, Amy," Methos pounced as soon as the waiter stepped away. "The show in the alley was cute, but what the hell are you up to?"

"I told you, I need to get the necklace in my safe deposit box before anybody else gets their hands on the information it carries."

"I don't believe you." The hardness in Methos' eyes contrasted with his easy sprawl in the chair.

"I don't care what you choose to believe. It's the truth." Amy paused to carefully word a further answer, balancing between telling the truth, and not telling too much. "News has gotten around that a particular mob boss acquired some very sensitive information and was arranging to sell it to the highest bidder. Since that information getting out would lead to the death of people I know, I decided to make sure he had nothing to auction."

"And who are these people you think would die?"

"Nobody you need to worry about," she answered with a cool smile, refusing to elaborate.

It didn't matter to Amy that her name had been leaked and was on the microfilm. She had put herself in retirement, after all, and it was hardly critical that her original job as a courier remain secret. That information was so far out of date that it didn't matter, although it could be used to embarrass her father. But the others, some of them her old contacts, needed protection. Her mind started mapping out how she was going to get herself to Zurich and get rid of the necklace before Paulson's people caught up to her again.

"Amy?" Methos repeated her name a third time, wondering what held her attention.

"Sorry, just thinking..." She leaned back so her plate could be set on the table.

Ignoring Methos again, Amy ate as fast as she could while scanning the crowd around them at regular intervals. Typically she would slow down, savor her food and the company, but she had to get to the bank before it closed.

Before her food was gone, Amy's attention was drawn across the street. She pushed away from the table after tucking enough money under her plate to pay for both meals. "So, I have to get going. I'll give you a holler tomorrow or so when this is over."

Methos jumped up and followed alongside, his long legs easily matching her rapid steps. "Hey, you barely say a word through lunch and now you want to run off? Wait a damn minute!"

"Adam, if you leave right now this doesn't have to involve you."

"Excuse me? Have you forgotten I was in that alley, too? I'd say I'm already involved!" Methos grabbed Amy's arm, attempting to stop her.

"I promised you a conversation when I got back in a month." Amy yanked her arm away and started walking again. "Just because I'm back a little early doesn't mean you get to be pushy, bub. Some things are slightly more important than you today."

"I don't happen to think -"

But Amy wasn't paying attention to his words anymore. Looking back the way they had come, Amy spun around to continue walking away. Methos followed, not missing the heavy sigh she gave when she realized he was still there.

"Adam, you see that little silver Fiat over there?" Using a small tip of her head to indicate ahead, she brought Methos' attention to a car parked at the curb. He hesitated before nodding. "It'll be unlocked by the time we're next to it. At the last possible second, jump in. I'm driving."

"You're crazy if you think I'm getting into -"

"Did you miss that we're being followed again?" She subtly tipped her head back indicating where she had been looking. "Unless you want a repeat of the alley, you're getting in that car. C'mon." She dodged around the back bumper, digging keys out of her pocket.

As she dove into the driver's seat, jamming the key into the ignition and the old car roared to life. Amy popped the clutch and they leapt into traffic.

"Drop me at my place on the way."

"Nope." She pulled an unexpected left turn forcing Methos to scrabble for any hold he could gain while angry horns blared around them. "You've been seen with me twice now. You will be stalked, harassed, and burgled until they're sure you're not involved. Then you'll be kidnapped and beaten until you offer up your mother, and then they'll torture you more just to be sure. Does Adam Pierson really need that?"

"Adam Pierson doesn't need a road trip." He grumbled from his crumpled position against the door. Amy pulled a sharp right, almost doubling back to make the corner. Methos clawed for another handhold.

"What's life without a little spontaneity?"

"Safe!"

"Boring!" Dodging between two larger cars and eliciting more outraged honking, she sped up to make a left turn.

"If you keep seeking out trouble like this, I'm going to reconsider this friendship."

"I don't seek anything out!" Amy turned onto Rue Claude Bernard. Finally slowing to blend in with the flow of traffic, she made her way to La Périphérique. Just a few kilometers, and it would be obvious that she intended to get to Zurich.

"You stole microfilm from a mob boss and you don't call that seeking trouble?" Methos yelled.

"No, trouble would be him keeping the microfilm. This is a slight adjustment in my plans. He wasn't supposed to find me so quickly, but I guess that was my own fault." She dropped her voice to a mutter. "Just had to be in a hurry. Stupid red passport."

"You have a diplomatic passport?"

"Doesn't everybody?" She winked at him quickly before grabbing a CD from her sun visor and pushing it into the stereo.

Pounding rock music filled the car, Methos' mouth opened, and he found himself with nothing to say. Closing his jaw with a click, he glared at her before giving up and watching the traffic ahead of them.

**Jump in the cockpit and start up the engines  
****Remove all the wheelblocks there's no time to waste  
****Gathering speed as we head down the runway  
****Gotta get airborne before it's too late. (1)**

Twenty minutes later and still in heavy traffic, Amy checked the rearview and side mirrors for the hundredth time. Taking note of her behavior, Methos also watched his own side mirror carefully and even looked out the rear window on the pretense of stretching.

"In case you're still uncertain, yes, we are being followed." While his dry words weren't meant to be reassuring, he didn't expect her response.

"Well, geez I hope so!" Her New Orleans drawl was slightly more drawn out than usual and fed Methos' frustration.

"What the bloody hell?"

"I go to all this trouble to be obvious, and they can't be bothered to follow me? What a waste!" She grew serious. "Paulson wants this necklace back badly. So, I'm putting it in a safe deposit box, but if I'm not seen doing so, he'll keep sending his goons, and I'll have to keep fighting them off. If Paulson sees me at the bank, he'll know where I left it, and there'll be no purpose in coming after me."

"That is not the most well-thought out plan I've ever heard."

"We'll be fine! I'm on busy highways with lots of traffic and witnesses, and we're not stopping anywhere for any reason so we won't be a target on the road."

"Um, relief stops?"

"What?" Amy said, pretending to be oblivious to his meaning.

"Bathroom breaks!"

She glanced in the back and pulled a discarded Coke bottle forward. "Here."

"What?"

"Use that. I'm not stopping."

"This is not the dark ages! I happen to _like_ flushing!"

"Whiner." Amy muttered under her breath

"What?"

"Nothing!" she tossed out, refusing to take her eyes off the road.

She pinched her lips shut to hide the smile that threatened to ruin her tease. Amy realized she was being a bit mean, but she couldn't help it. Getting similar reactions from MacLeod was so easy, it wasn't even fun anymore and she and her brothers knew each other too well. While her focus was centered on getting to Zurich without dying, she couldn't help but enjoy a little verbal sparring with Methos. The last three weeks had been dull without it.

**Hey, come on try a little  
****Nothing is forever  
****There's got to be something better than  
****In the middle  
****But me & Cinderella  
****We put it all together  
****We can drive it home  
****With one headlight (2)**

Amy had managed to slow down enough to get through the toll booths on the A6 without drawing undue attention, and the city had fallen behind them. Music still filled the car, Amy singing along as if she had no care in the world.

It was that attitude which Methos didn't understand, and would explore later, after he had the information he wanted most right now. He reached out and turned the volume down to start the conversation.

"Got a notice finally. Proceedings in Kalas' trial have been scheduled, and I'm expected to be there in case I'm needed."

"You think you will be?"

"It's likely. As an eyewitness to the crime, I did identify him to the police."

"But you couldn't have actually seen…" Her voice petered out and her eyebrows lifted as she realized the complications he had created for himself and the trial. "What if they figure out you couldn't have seen him?"

"They won't."

"So you'll get up on the stand and lie like a dog to keep him in jail?"

"Yes! It's the only way to ensure justice for Don, not to mention it being better to have him in prison than hunting for me!"

Amy realized she had poorly worded her question. "No, no, that's not what I meant. I mean… I guess I'm surprised you'd rather have him in jail than beheaded. I would think his permanent death would be a better guarantee of your safety and vengeance for your friend."

So, her problem wasn't with him lying in order to ensure Kalas stayed in prison, it was that a threat would be left alive. _ Interesting._ "I'm not giving him another chance at my Quickening. Do you understand?"

She shook her head slightly. "Not entirely."

"Live, grow stronger, fight another day." In the face of her continued puzzlement, Methos shrugged a little and turned his face to the car window. So very few understood. "You're probably too young to understand."

"But Kalas will be living, too. Behind bars, sure, but still living, so how does -"

"He won't be taking any heads in prison, and I intend to make sure he remains there for a very, very long time."

Full understanding finally bloomed and Amy nodded in silent support. "Does Adam Pierson need moral support? A body to hide behind to stay away from cameras?"

They both grinned at the thought of his six foot body trying to hide behind her much smaller frame. "I don't know what to expect of media coverage yet. Do you really want to be caught in that circus?"

"But what about you, having your face pop up on tv?"

"I don't suppose knowing a security consultant means I could get something to happen to a courtroom newsfeed?" He lifted his eyebrows practically to his hairline, making Amy smile at how silly he looked. It still surprised her how rapidly Methos could look like a mischievous teenager.

**I'm not ready for this,  
****Though I thought I would be.  
****I can't see the future,  
****Though I thought I could see. (3)**

Methos allowed Amy's singing to fill the car uninterrupted for a couple of songs before bringing up a question with studied nonchalance. "We're running from one problem already... we're not going to have issues with any other unexpected pursuit, are we?"

"Now what are you worried about?"

"Your overload issues? Are you still sending out signal flares to people hunting for you?"

"No, no signal flares. So long as I keep drinking that nasty brew Peter managed to compound, I'm only having infrequent overloads I can easily shield. Since I've been close to home for the last few weeks, he's been making me sit through whatever tests he can imagine."

"Did he learn anything?"

"He's currently calling it a seizure disorder triggered by getting too close to Quickenings. But we still don't know why it seems to have gotten so out of control."

Methos raised his eyebrows and stared at Amy for a beat. "I would think that if these seizures are caused by Quickenings you would do well to avoid Immortals."

"Well, avoid the beheadings, anyway. Should make hanging around you safe enough," she added wryly.

"You keep dragging me into brawls, and who knows what will happen!" Methos shot back.

Amy laughed and continued singing.

**Always had my reservations  
****Who am I to blame  
****Walked into the ring of fire  
****Heart in a wall of flames  
****Put my blues away  
****My emotion running riot  
****Through the neighbourhood  
****Screaming in the dead of night  
****I wish to be understood  
****Put my blues away (4)**

"So, telling your friend goodbye. How did that go?"

Amy smiled with only a hint of sadness. "We talked a lot. Mostly about how much death sucks."

"Are you okay with it now?"

"Nope, not one bit. But I think I'm past being so angry."

"Have you forgiven Peter for not healing her?"

"Yeah." She admitted quietly. The temper tantrum she had thrown was still embarrassing. "He was right. His gift doesn't work that way, and I know better. I just didn't want to admit it."

"How much longer does she have?"

Amy shrugged helplessly. "Nobody can say. I'll be spending a lot more time in the States for a while."

"Are you going back as soon as you're back to Paris?"

"No, I'll stay about four days, wrapping up contracts and closing the apartment. Then I'll go back until the end."

**Open your eyes I see  
****Your eyes are open  
****Wear no disguise for me  
****Come into the open  
****When it's cold outside  
****Am I here in vain?  
****Hold on to the night  
****There will be no shame (5)**

"So. Elves. How can you manage to hide that?"

"So. Immortals. How can you manage to hide that?"

"At least we look like mortals, and we move around. You know that."

Amy chose to answer in Elvish. "After the demons were banished from Earth, the full-blood Elves left. A few stayed behind as well as most of the Elf-born…"

"The what?"

"Sorry. Elf-born. Any of us who are not pure Elf. The simple fact is, that as the Elf-born realized they weren't aging as fast as humans, they would leave their homes and move on, just like Immortals. Today, it's simply a matter of oddly shaped ears or reaching their one hundredth birthday in excellent health." Amy lifted her shoulders slightly.

"But the blood runs thicker in you and your brothers." Methos spoke in English. His command of the language was just too rusty for smooth conversation.

Amy refused to follow, staying in the language she shared with so few. "Yes, it does. Tell me, what connected this story of the Himalayan giant to the language the Ancient taught you?"

"The Immortal who told me the story tried to repeat something he overheard the giant say. He didn't understand it correctly, but well enough I wrote it down and the next time I was able to see The Ancient, I asked him. Yes, the giant was an elf." Methos looked at Amy from the corner of his eye, waiting for the obvious next question.

"And…? What did the Immortal overhear him saying?"

"Do you realize how long ago that was? I wouldn't have remembered what little I did if you hadn't come around! How many are there like you?"

"Well, what precisely do you mean?"

"I mean blowing up dishes, or whatever it is you do! Is this something your whole family does?"

"Not blowing up plates, no. Peter is a healer, and while Paul shows some telepathic talents, his gifts tend to be more nature based."

"How many are there like you? With...gifts of any sort?"

"If you mean half-breeds, there's six of us living together. Peter and Paul - you met my brothers - then three we're not related to, but we're all very close. So far as we know, we're the last six and we all have some sort of gift."

"The Ancient never said the Elf he met showed magic talent."

"Magic use isn't automatically an Elven trait. It's only found in those who are descended from the original magic-users."

"Magic-users?" Methos shifted in his seat enough to cross his arms and stare at Amy.

It was no surprise to her he might be resistant. Even growing up with her strange abilities, how long did it take for her to accept it once she and her brothers found each other and their parents?

"A select group of the original Elves were given objects by the Creator, Dagda, to help fight the demons. Objects that would allow them to access and control the magic that freely flowed through the Earth at the time, focus it, and banish the demons that would take the Creator's work away from man. They became known as the magic-users."

"That's a cute little story you have there, but..."

"But it's the truth." She interrupted him in irritation. "Are you going to tell me that in five thousand years you've never seen magic? Are you going to tell me that Immortals aren't a kind of magic?"

"Sure, there were magician; fakes all of them. But when we didn't know how to explain what was going on..."

"There's always been fakes, Adam, but that doesn't mean that magic isn't real. Energy once filled this world, and it was difficult to use and control. By the time you were born, the free flowing energy had decreased, causing a decrease in the power available to the magic-users descendants. They didn't have the same power as their ancestors, but they didn't need the objects, either."

"That is quite a story, but what is your claim about today? There most certainly aren't these 'magic-users' running around today."

"First, do you really think we're so stupid that we'd go around advertising what we can do? Only a fool with a death wish would do that. Second, most blood lines have been diluted so far that gifts are limited to nothing more than the odd psychic, or someone having an exceptional talent like gardening, sports, and so on."

"Are you sure you're not just repeating some fairy tales?"

"What are fairy tales but truth removed by a few generations?"

He sat in silence, digesting the strange story. Methos had seen magic in use when he was a young Immortal, it was true. And if he could live for five thousand years, and the Ancient even longer, what was to say the story Amy wove couldn't be true, as well?

**I believe in the kingdom come  
****Then all the colors will bleed into one  
****Bleed into one  
****Well yes I'm still running  
****You broke the bonds and you  
****Loosed the chains  
****Carried the cross  
****Of my shame  
****Of my shame  
****You know I believed it  
****But I still haven't found what I'm looking for (6)**

Methos shook his head shortly, as if waking himself up. "Now seriously, how can you not be noticed, Amy? You have pointy little ears -"

"So do you, Adam!"

Methos refused to take her bait. "You can make your own electrical storms! How can your kind possibly blend into the population of humans? At least Immortals don't have distinguishing features like you do!"

"Current medical theory is that our physical traits are a strange recessive gene. Obviously, there's some who've noticed the abnormally high rate of high IQs, 'psychics', and such among those who happen to have slightly pointy ears. They have gotten their hands on a lot of us, but they still don't know exactly what we are."

"And they're the ones you were keeping yourself away from when you broke into my place."

Amy clicked her tongue and pointed at him in confirmation.

**Tell me, why I had to be a power slave?  
****I don't wanna die, I'm a God, why can't I live on?  
****When the life giver dies, all around is laid to waste  
****And in my last hour, I'm a slave to the power of death (7)**

Methos watched the countryside fly past. It had been about an hour since getting on the toll road, and they were passing exits for Avallon. Doing 200 kph was one thing, but an international car chase was not what he had in mind when he had decided a little more excitement was in order.

Amy had called knowing MacLeod "an adventure like none other." The child had no idea. Or did she? She seemed to be handling the day's unexpected events with the calmness and humor of someone who expected frequent upheavals.

But if attacks and instability were so commonplace that she reacted like this, did he want to trade the quiet life he had built for a new friendship and new knowledge?

Methos was a ghost, lost in legend, and he was far safer that way. He had studied Macleod for years before revealing himself to him. This girl simply opened her eyes and not only knew what and who he was, but claimed to have an idea of what he had been! "Why do take the chances you do? Are you subconsciously trying to get yourself killed?"

"You live your life as Adam Pierson like a normal human, while taking precautions, correct?"

"As many precautions as possible that won't make me stand out."

"But what if everything goes sideways? Do you have a contingency plan?"

"Of course, only a fool would -"

Amy interrupted. "Then why do you insist on thinking I don't do the same?"

"You hardly have any sort of plan that -"

He still didn't get it. "Look, you've seen the armor and you know what I normally keep stashed in it. I could even show you an extra blade and garrote wire in my hair today. Just because I refuse to get in a bad mood because things don't go my way -"

Methos' voice rose in frustration. "You call this 'not going your way?' You think simply wearing armor means you're prepared? You have got to be the least prepared, most over -"

"Fine. Call me overly optimistic. Call me an air-headed idiot if you like, but if that is what you really believe about me… Well, you just fell for contingency plan number one, didn't you?" Amy looked at him sharply for an instant before turning back to the highway.

Methos lost his breath in a puff as he saw behind the mask. The entire time he'd been coming around, wanting to know more, evaluating the level of threat she and her brothers represented… and he'd been underestimating her. He, of all people, should be immune to a young face and casual act. Methos swore silently at himself.

**I treasure your love  
****I never want to lose it  
****You've been through the fires of hell  
****And I know you've got the ashes to prove it  
****I treasure you love  
****I want to show you how to use it  
****You've been through a lot of pain in the dirt  
****And I know you've got the scars to prove it (8)**

"Meat Loaf? I haven't heard the Rolling Stones or Beatles yet, but you have Meat Loaf?"

"I don't happen to care for the Rolling Stones, okay?"

"Tell me you at least have Elvis!"

"You listen to Euro-pop and you're going to criticize my driving music? Does it make you happier to know there's some Pink Floyd and The Doors in here somewhere?"

"Marginally. Did you ever consider a career in music performance?"

"It's what I wanted. I was even going to go on to Julliard after finishing my bachelor's in Louisiana."

"What happened?"

He watched Amy blink rapidly and change her grip on the steering wheel before she answered. The terse reply surprised him.

"Well, Julliard isn't for people like me, is it?"

"How could it not be -"

"It wasn't meant to be. And that's all there is to it." With that, Amy shut down and refused to speak again.

**You know the day destroys the night  
****Night divides the day  
****Tried to run  
****Tried to hide  
****Break on through to the other side (9)**

Rapid deceleration brought Methos out of the doze into which he had unwittingly slipped in the quiet of the car. Music still played, but Amy wasn't singing. They were pulling over at a gas station, bypassing the pumps.

"What's going on?"

She pulled into a parking spot and started climbing out of the car. "I figure we've gained about five minutes, so we should be able to take three here."

"What - " He started climbing out as well.

Amy stared at him across the top of the car. "You didn't think I was serious about the Coke bottle, did you?"

* * *

**Next:** End of the Road

* * *

**Song Credits** (lyrics re-typed from several different online lyric websites):

1) Iron Maiden - "Aces High"

2) Wallflowers - "One Headlight"

3) Cranberries - "I Still Do"

4) Erasure - "Blues Away"

5) Erasure - "Always"

6) U2 - "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For"

7) Iron Maiden - "Power Slave"

8) Meatloaf - "Rock and Roll Dreams Come Through"

9) The Doors - "Break On Through"


	9. End of the Road

**End of the Road**

* * *

Methos stepped out of the gas station door, surprised that Amy wasn't impatiently waiting for him. He stretched his arms overhead and arched his back, glad he wouldn't be bothered by his tight muscles for more than a few moments.

At the apex of his stretch, he felt hands on his trench coat, pulling him off balance. Spinning around to stay on his feet, he drew up short as he discovered Amy pulling him behind a dilapidated ice box.

"Amy, what the bloody he-"

"Shush! Apparently we took a little longer than our three minutes." She indicated a Mercedes sedan pulling up to the gas pumps.

"Damn." Methos muttered. A dagger found its way into his hand. An old, familiar twitch rippled along the muscles of his forearm as he gripped the cold handle.

Amy looked from the blade to his face a couple times before he took the hint. "What?"

"Adam, we've been extremely lucky to go this long without seeing a cop..."

He held his fingers up in a salute. "No blood, scout's honor!"

"I find it hard to believe you were ever a Boy Scout." Amy muttered while ducking underneath Methos to peek around the ice chest, carefully studying the three burly goons that exited the car and entered the gas station. "I'll be right back."

Methos swore again at the brashness of the girl as she slipped back into the station, following the three men. His eyes darted around as the strategist took over and began to calculate his plan of attack, fervently wishing Amy had stayed outside.

_Three strides to the back of the Mercedes, duck and hide. _His body a well oiled machine, adrenaline coursing through his veins, Methos slid into motion with an experienced warrior's ease. On the pretense of checking the tires, his dagger flashed and air began a slow hiss out of confinement. _Repeat for the other tire as well. _A Mercedes was hardly in the same class as a human as far as opponents went, but it certainly was quieter and more easily overcome.

Light footsteps approached the rear of the sedan. Methos' calves and thighs coiled, ready to launch his body into that of the coming assailant. The footfalls ceased, and Methos tensed further, dagger ready for blood.

When Amy's face appeared around the corner of the car, at the same level as his own. Methos forced his face to relax, followed by hands, then legs.

Burying the flash of unease she felt at the sight of his face, Amy smiled crookedly at Methos' handiwork on the tires. "Are you done playing Hot Wheels? Let's go before Goon One and Goon Two figure out how to get Goon Three out of the broom closet."

Shaking his head Methos re-hid his dagger and curled back into the Fiat, calculating their arrival time in Zurich.

**oh now feel it comin' back again  
****like a rollin' thunder chasing the wind  
****forces pullin' from the center of the earth again  
****I can feel it (1)**

The music played on, but conversation waned. Verbal silence ruled for nearly an hour after they pulled away from the gas station. Amy kept her focus on the road speeding past her tires. As the scenery rushed by, she recalled how stunned she had been by Adam's first appearance at her door. After invading his apartment, she and her brothers never expected to see him again. When Adam seemed more accepting and less suspicious than MacLeod, she had been further surprised, making her wonder if he was that good at hiding his true thoughts, or if he really was less suspicious.

Suspicion of someone who could wield energy the way she could was to be expected. What had caught her unprepared was the fact that an Immortal had had the most direct knowledge of Elves outside of her own family - even if he was five thousand years old.

What was it about the oldest Immortal that she found so fascinating? Three days of mulling over that question and his knowledge of Elves had given her no clear answer. She hadn't revisited the idea while in the States but it was impossible not to think about it with them both confined in the tiny car.

**How can you be so warm?  
****How can you know what I feel?  
****Well, it's the way you move your hands,  
****And it's the way you understand.  
****And that's the reason that i'm asking.  
****That's the reason that I want to know. (2)**

The only thing she did know was what she had come to believe in the few days she had taken over his apartment. Amy was certain she and Methos were similar on some level, and it was a level neither of them would be able to share with many others. She hoped that would mean they would understand each other on a level none other would be able to match.

Methos paused in his own ruminations, feeling Amy's focus on him instead of the road.

"Do you need me to drive?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Okay, is there food on my face or did I miss a spot shaving?"

"No... -"

"Then will you keep your eyes on the road? Car wrecks are not on my list of desired ways to die!"

Amy refused to be deterred from finishing her point and asking a question to which she desperately wanted an answer. "Just couldn't keep from thinking about how similar we are again."

Methos snorted, hoping a poor response would encourage her to drop the topic. _I couldn't be so lucky._

"Your refusal to say anything won't make it go away."

"Oh, we're back to this whatever you think you see in my eyes."

"I see it, you can't deny that it's there."

_Of course not_. "You and I have nothing in common."

"It's in your eyes, it's in mine, it was even in Darius'. For all he's had to kill to survive, it's not in Mac's eyes. Not even my Sensei, the Navy Seal, has it. It's only found in those of us who've found pleasure in killing."

"Darius was a man of peace, and I am a scholar."

"And before a monk, he was a warlord. You have not been a scholar exclusively for five thousand years. No." Amy gave him one of her more piercing looks that said she knew he was lying.

"And your point is?" This was still as uncomfortable as when she first brought it up. _How could she know killing can bring pleasure? How can she know I found pleasure in being death?" _

"As you change and grow, do you still have to battle the older part of yourself? The part you thought you left behind?"

"What makes you ask?"

"When I was forced out of my place and into yours, it started and today seems to have strengthened it. I find myself constantly thinking about how fun it would be to repay them all. I can see their faces when they realize their prey is their hunter. I can smell the fear dripping off of them as I - " She shivered and sank into her seat. "I thought I had left that part of myself behind, but here it is beside me, as strong as ever."

Methos exhaled in a puff, running his hand through his hair, making it stand up even more. Staring out his window, he carefully considered his response.

**Well, she believes that time can make things right  
****And I want to believe that there's been a change in me  
****And I hope that she believes  
****Yes, I wonder if she sees the killer inside me (3)**

For a moment Methos almost laughed at the irony of the song playing in the background. Surely the child didn't plan that coincidence?

Well, Amy wasn't asking for details. It seemed she wanted reassurance about something in her own past. If that were the case, he could answer without having to reveal too much about himself.

Staring out the windshield, his hands frozen on his knees, he answered.

"I hated for a long time and I took that hate out on the world around me. I reveled in the fear I brought to their eyes and I found joy in the destruction and the power it brought."

Reaching a straight stretch of road, Amy took a moment to carefully study his face with its sudden hardness and his eyes glittering gold at her from shadowed eye sockets. Was she imagining the glint of - something - that sent small shivers of unease up and down her spine? She doubted Methos realized his eyes were letting anything escape, but what it meant when that golden gaze flashed still puzzled her.

"Do you still?"

"What?"

"Revel? Do you still revel in the fear?"

"No." His voice muffled slightly as he looked out his own window once more. "It only brings emptiness and regrets."

Trying to swallow his tension away, Methos nearly missed Amy's soft confession that followed.

"To see the fear dawn in their eyes as they recognized they wouldn't see sunrise. To know that I was the source of their fear. The power - " Her fingers flexed against the wheel, phantom feelings of her tools crossing her palms. She shrank away from herself again as the car continued propelling down the pavement.

Methos turned in time to see the the twitch of her fingers and knew her muscles were remembering. His own fingers had done the same, though with less frequency in the last couple thousand years. But in the beginning…

"It gets easier." He decided to answer her first question. The one with which he now understood she struggled. "Do you have time?"

"Depends," she answered flatly. "Are we talking a few hundred years, or a couple thousand?"

"You'll have to find something to take the place of the satisfaction the power gave you, and the sooner you do that, the fewer years you're likely to need."

"Like breaking and entering corporations for pay and stealing things from mob bosses for jollies?" Amy smiled crookedly.

Methos barked a small laugh. "Everyone needs a hobby."

**Give me a moment  
****Got to get this weight up off my chest  
****Don't feed me sorrow  
****Pain is a poison I digest  
****I'll give you answers  
****To the questions you have yet to ask  
****Silence is beauty  
****Words they only complicate the task (4)**

Three songs later, Methos found himself staring at Amy's hand, once again resting casually on the gear shift. If they were going to be at least brushing at the edges of deep, dark secrets he may as well ask. He quickly reached out and pulled her arm over. Before she could reclaim her arm, he pushed her sleeve up, revealing thin lines, pale against her tanned skin.

"What about these scars? Did you convince yourself you were such a monster, you decided it was better to leave the world?"

Amy reclaimed her hand and pulled it back to her chest with a glare at Methos. "There are questions I don't ask you. There are questions you have no right to ask!"

Methos accepted her refusal and allowed the music to be the only sound in the car. His fingers played along the edge of the door and he looked around the interior. Like her tiny apartment, the old car was kept neat, not a scrap of paper, nothing personal littered the floors or seats. The gauges in the dash appeared to be standard, although a closer look revealed extra gauges - air fuel mix and nitrous for starters - that certainly hadn't been installed at the factory in 1965.

He suspected the car had been modified far more than appearances let on, but a few gauges and the stereo were the only obvious changes. Methos was wondering what had been done under the hood to make the little car roar when his eyes fell on the small red button down by the gear shift. A small smile played across his lips as favored lines from James Bond flitted through his memory. Sean Connery, of course. He may have been barbaric in his younger years, but he certainly wasn't now!

**There must be some mistake  
****I didn't mean to let them  
****Take away my soul  
****Am I too old is it too late (5)**

Amy slowed down as they entered the Zurich metropolitan area. They had been beyond fortunate to have no problems with police, but she wasn't going to push her luck moving into the city. She was so close to the end, hopefully she had built up enough of a lead that slowing down for traffic wouldn't cost her much.

At the bank, she pulled the car into the first parking spot she found on the same block, more concerned with getting inside than wasting time trying to get as close as possible. Methos followed her out of the car, surprising Amy.

"Are you sure you want to go up here? You could stay in the car where you won't be seen." She really hadn't meant to drag Methos into her problem, and in the moment making it look as if he had been nearly kidnapped had seemed like a good idea.

"Thanks for the offer, but if I'm going to be at the opening fight, I may as well be at the conclusion."

Amy shrugged, "I highly recommend you stay outside, though, if you ever hope for Paulson to believe you actually aren't involved." She jogged up the stairs to the front doors, ignoring the Immortal behind her.

**So needless to say  
****I'm odds and ends  
****But that's me stumbling away  
****Slowly learning that life is OK  
****Say after me  
****It's no better to be safe than sorry  
****Take on me  
****Take me on  
****I'll be gone  
****In a day or two (6)**

Methos glared at Amy's back as he took position against a column. He would have preferred to have been carrying on their conversations over a few beers, but he had been given the answers he had hoped for and so much more.

Commotion in the street drew his attention. Two sedans suddenly braking in front of the bank caused other drivers to react in irritation. Six men spilled onto the sidewalk, one clearly in charge, and Methos knew this was the man from whom Amy had stolen.

He slumped further against the granite, a bored student with no purpose, waiting on the bank porch for no good reason. Amy had hoped to be five minutes ahead. Checking his watch, Methos noted she had gone in the door fifteen minutes earlier. Somewhere they had picked up ten minutes. He hoped it was enough time.

Walking at her typical quick pace, her calm face not betraying the adrenaline still pumping through her system, Amy pushed out the door and walked across the broad expanse of concrete. Without so much as a glance in Methos' direction, she approached the mob boss directly, coming face to face with him at the top of the stairs.

Her back already straight, Amy tipped her head to look down her nose at Paulson - as much as she could since they were the same height even with him standing one step beneath her. He had made a mistake in allowing her to get across the porch before he finished climbing the stairs.

With her hands jammed in her pockets and disdain clearly across her face, Amy waited for Paulson to speak.

"Fun little trip you've led us on."

"Yes, it was quite relaxing and enjoyable, wasn't it?"

"Cute. Give it back."

Amy clucked her tongue. "Sorry, don't have it anymore. Feel free to send one of your friends here inside to check."

With a jerk of his head Paulson sent one of the men behind him into the bank to verify what Amy claimed.

She pulled her hands from her pockets to cross across her chest, still staring directly at her adversary. "So, how are your two goons? They have a good morning?"

"Two concussions, a broken jaw, one cracked skull, three shattered ribs, and a stay in Critical Care for brain bleeding. I have quite a debt to collect from you and your friend over there for what you did to two of my best."

"Perhaps you should be glad I left them alive."

Paulson's eyes flicked over to Methos. Amy didn't let her eyes follow.

"You think being together all the time will be enough protection for either of you? I have more than two men. Your life is about to be cut very short."

Amy laughed with a cruel bark. "Pierson? Are you having problems seeing him over there, Paulson? He's nearly worthless in study group and worse in a fight!"

Methos let his face grow more pale and widen his eyes in fear. He could be the grad student, pulled out of his element by a crazy classmate. He was willing to forgive her insults to him in exchange for the way she was carefully deflecting Paulson's attention from him and back to herself. Why she was so willing to do so was beyond him, but he would take it.

Amy narrowed her eyes and warned Paulson, "No, your problem is with me alone. You touch Pierson, and you can be sure I'll be more than happy to sic the police, Interpol, the gendarmes, whatever you like, all over you. Keep this between us, Paulson, and our relationship can remain as it has."

Paulson's attention was drawn over Amy's shoulder as she spoke. She let a cruel smile play across her lips as his reddening face revealed his rage at her confirmed actions.

Anticipating that Paulson would have a mole inside the bank, she had been careful to make her movements obvious to the security cameras. She wanted to be sure it would be reported back to the boss that the necklace had made it into her safe deposit box.

"I've won Paulson -"

"This round," he growled back.

"There are no more rounds. I've proved I can get into your bedroom while you're home. I've proved I can put your men in the hospital, and I've proved I know what you're up to. You come after me, or Pierson over there, or try to pull something like this again... You'll wake up one morning, standing alone in the rubble of your empire, wishing I had been merciful enough to kill you first."

Paulson and Amy glared at each other. She would not be the first to move. She would not let her eyes flick away to his men. If one of them were about to make a move, she was trusting Methos to watch her back.

Paulson blinked first. He turned and spoke to Methos. "You need to reconsider your acquaintances, son. Hanging around this girl is going to get you killed."

Adam Pierson answered in a wavering voice. "I'm seeing that, sir. I think the study group will agree that she's out."

Paulson turned and stomped to his car, entourage trailing just behind him.

Methos remained hunched against the granite column.

Chin still defiant, arms still crossed, Amy watched the cars merge in traffic and continue down the avenue and out of sight. When her chin dropped ever so slightly, Methos stepped forward to join her at the steps.

She carefully spoke without moving her lips. "Don't say anything." Methos' eyebrows drew down. "We're still on camera. Not a word."

She began to walk back to her own car, assuming he would follow, and not looking to verify that he did. Adam Pierson was inconsequential, but she would at least make sure he got back to Paris. Hyper-aware of the cameras, they held tightly to their personas of pride and fear as they climbed into the tiny Fiat and pulled away from the curb.

**And with dust in throat I crave  
****Only knowledge will I save  
****To the game you stay a slave  
****Roamer, wanderer  
****Nomad, vagabond  
****Call me what you will  
****But I'll take my time anywhere  
****Free to speak my mind anywhere  
****And I'll redefine anywhere  
****Anywhere I roam  
****Where I lay my head is home** ** (7)**

Less than a mile later, Amy pulled into a parking lot and stopped, leaving the engine running. Without a word, she climbed out and walked around the car to open Methos' door.

The Immortal looked up at her, surprised. "What's going on?"

"Adam, other than getting a small nap on the plane, I've been up for damn near forty-eight hours straight. If you're really as afraid of dying in a car wreck as you claimed earlier, then you'd be jumping up and down to take the driving away from me, not sitting there with that stupid look on your face. Now shove over to the other side because, as it happens, I don't care to die in a wreck, either."

Methos didn't need any further encouragement to hop over the emergency brake and take over the steering wheel.

**Heirs of a cold war  
****That's what we've become  
****Inheriting troubles I'm mentally numb  
****Crazy, I just cannot bear  
****I'm living with something' that just isn't fair  
****Mental wounds not healing  
****Who and what's to blame  
****I'm going off the rails on a crazy train** ** (8)**

* * *

**Next:** Sunday, Bloody Sunday

* * *

**Song Credits** (lyrics re-typed from several different online lyric websites):

(1) Live - "Lightening Crashes"

(2) Better Than Ezra - "In the Blood"

(3) Better Than Ezra - "The Killer Inside Me"

(4) Collective Soul - "Where the River Flows"

(5) Pink Floyd - "The Show Must Go On"

(6) Ah Ha - "Take on Me"

(7) Metallica - "Wherever I May Roam"

(8) Ozzy Osbourne - "Crazy Train"


	10. Dancing Lessons

**A/N:** THANK YOU to Cameo Cat for feeding me the opening song. I can't tell you how hard I laughed at "I'm Calm" when I first read it. That was a stroke of brilliance (and one I'd never heard before). Thank you, readers, for sticking with me. (Review button? It's super easy! Call it a late Christmas Gift!)

**Story Note:** Four days have passed since the last chapter.

**Canon Note:** STILL sitting in between the episodes "Methos" and "Finale." I promise, I'm not going to destroy the canon timeline.

* * *

**Dancing Lessons**

* * *

I'm calm,  
I'm calm,  
I'm perfectly calm,  
I'm utterly under control.  
I haven't a worry:  
Where others would hurry I stroll.  
I'm calm,  
I'm cool,  
A gibbering fool  
Is something I never become.

I'm calm,  
I'm calm,  
I'm perfectly calm,  
Indifferent to tensions and shocks.  
Unruffled and ready,  
My nerves are as steady as rocks.  
I'm calm, controlled,  
So cool that I'm cold

- 'I'm Calm' from A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum

* * *

Under orders to fill in at Shakespeare and Company, Methos found it impossible to not think about Don Salzar while unpacking boxes, shelving books, or simply staring out the front window. Between missing his friend and the clouds pressing down it was difficult to stay out of a surly mood and he was glad no customers were willing to brave the rain.

The skies over Paris had been gray and threatening for two days before they gave in and released their rain in a slow, steady manner that soaked everything, seeped cold into bones, and oppressed spirits. Now, after three days of rain, the clouds were empty at last, but refused to move along and give way to the sun.

The only upside Methos found to being stuck at the bookstore, when not filling his role as a grad student, was the time he had to finish the last little bit of work remaining for the database of Immortals he and Don had been creating. The completion made him want to celebrate, but it also made him feel the sting of Don's loss since they wouldn't be celebrating together.

The world was already forgetting the vicious murder, the quiet old man, and his obscure book store. Methos knew that over time his own memory of Don would grow hazy, but that was a few hundred years away. Today, he missed his friend more acutely than he had since the murder. Today, he walked with his collar turned up against the wind a little higher than it needed to be. Today, Methos wanted to share his pleasure at the completion of the database and he was alone.

Or was he, really? Their conversations had showed him that while Amy had a code of honor, she didn't exactly share a moral code with MacLeod. In fact, there were even instances he found where her ethics, especially regarding survival, more closely matched his own. Perhaps she would understand his deeper reasons for being inside the Watchers.

They had both been quite busy since their trip to Zurich four days ago and hadn't even had the opportunity to grab lunch together. Yes, it was definitely time to drop back by her apartment and see what kind of conversation could be started. If he were lucky, he'd be able to goad her into some sort of debate and they could both enjoy the distraction for the rest of the night.

His mind made up, Methos acquired a decent bottle of wine - just expensive enough to be worth it, but not so much Adam Pierson wouldn't be able to eat for a month - and knocked on Amy's door at about five o'clock.

Amy was standing in front of her cracked mirror - wearing her sweats and a large shirt she'd stolen from Paul - trying to force her hair into submission and cursing herself for letting her father talk her into the coming torture. The attempt to get her hair into an arrangement elegant enough to fit in with the crowd, but not so elaborate that she would draw excess attention to herself, had her so frustrated that she was considering refusing to go. She didn't understand why the task of doing her hair seemed to have her so rattled.

The knock on her door startled her badly enough that the bobby pin flew from her fingers and the curl she had been trying to pin up sprung free of control. Amy cursed one more time for good measure as she hurried to the door.

"Dammit, Mac, I'm not even close to rea -" She hadn't considered it might not be MacLeod, so finding Methos on the other side of the door threw her so much that she couldn't find a better response than the stunned "Oh!" that slipped out of her mouth.

Methos slumped just a little and lowered the bottle of wine he had lifted to show off as he heard her opening the door.

"Well, I know I'm not tall, dark, and handsome like MacLeod, but I always thought I rated at least a 'hello.'" His mouth drew down in a fake pout as he started to turn for the stairs.

"No! I'm sorry," she grabbed his coat sleeve and pulled Methos inside the door so she could shut it. "I'm…" her hands waved ineffectively in the air, as she searched for the word. "Bah, it doesn't matter. What's up?"

Amy vanished into the bedroom with a wave at the couch. Methos set the wine on the small coffee table, wondering why she was wearing more makeup and jewelry than usual.

"Well, today I put the final touches on a project Don Salzar and I had been working on together and I'm tired of being stuck in the bookstore."

"Big Watcher thing?" In her room she removed the few bobby pins she had managed to get into her hair. Once they were tossed on the dresser, she rejoined Methos in the living room, braiding her hair into a fairly complex design.

"More like unsanctioned Watcher thing and now it's ready to present."

Amy finally noticed the bottle of wine. "You came to celebrate, huh?"

He couldn't miss the regret in her drawl and didn't understand it. "And that sounds like you don't want to."

"Trust me, I'd rather celebrate with you than go to this thing, but I have to leave in a half hour or so..."

"So don't go. Play hooky instead!" Methos went over to the kitchen area and rummaged through the few drawers until he found a corkscrew.

"If I hadn't promised Dad months ago, believe me I wouldn't be there." She finished the braid, covering her ears as usual, and letting the remainder fall down her back in loose waves.

The Immortal handed Amy a half glass of wine, disappointed he would be alone tonight, after all.

Amy, finally stopping long enough to study her friend, realized he was on the verge of sulking. "Adam, we've been so busy, I didn't think about giving you a heads up about tonight. And I'm so wound up, I didn't even notice," she gave a small wave towards the bottle. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right." Methos waved a hand in dismissal, forcing nonchalance in his voice as he sat back down. "A toast while you can?"

She lifted her glass, "Here's to finishing unsanctioned projects."

"Here's to no more road trips with you!"

Amy choked on her swallow, then with an ornery smile rejoined, "To perjury!"

He laughed. "All for a noble cause!"

Amy was surprised to discover she could actually enjoy the wine he had brought - she didn't care for alcohol in general. It would be so easy to call Mac, cancel the plans and stay on the couch in her sweats, watching the sunset over Paris while finishing the bottle of Merlot with Methos.

Except for her dad. And a very particular delivery she had to accomplish during the evening. With a heavy sigh of regret, Amy set her glass on the table and stood to return to the bedroom.

"Feel free to stay, you can even talk all you want, but I have to finish getting dressed."

Methos leaned over the back of the couch and called after her, "I can help you with zippers and irritating microscopic buttons, you know!"

"I'm sure you can," she called through the closed door. "No, thanks."

"I know! I'll crash this thing of yours, and you'll have a reason to leave early!"

Her throaty laugh was muffled by the closed bedroom door. "Actually, that's not a half-bad ide… No! It would save my toes, but no."

"What? Save your toes?" Methos' eyebrows twisted down in confusion as he tried to decide if he had missed a major portion of their conversation.

"The Russian Ambassador. He's a frightful dancer and a dirty old man, and if any woman doesn't have an escort, he will not leave them alone! Back when I told Dad I'd be there, I asked Mac to escort me to keep potential dance partners at bay."

Methos was even more confused. "Ok, so you don't want to go and there's at least one person there you can't stand. Why are you going where again?"

"It's a ball at the Russian embassy and I promised my dad I would be there." Her voice was suddenly very clear as Amy opened her bedroom door and stepped through.

Methos looked up - the word 'ball' had grabbed his attention - and Amy became unsure of herself.

"Why are… what are you looking at?" She craned her neck, nearly losing her balance on her heels, trying to see the back of her dress. The look on his face made her fear for the condition of her dress. Not finding anything, but still worried, Amy held out a necklace and asked for help.

In an embassy full of pretentious women in heavy gowns, heavier jewels, and thick makeup, Methos knew Amy was going to stand out in elegant simplicity, despite trying to fade into the background. She had added a touch of lipstick and eyeshadow to her usual eyeliner-only makeup. To the two rings she wore everyday she had added a single, thin bracelet, small emerald drop earrings, and she held out a matching emerald and diamond pendant for her neck.

The dark plum gown flowed over the athletic curves she usually hid. The bodice was a low cut v which showed only a hint of cleavage, but when she turned so Methos could help, her entire back was exposed down to her hips, save for the wide straps crossing between her shoulder blades.

As he lifted the chain over her head and brushed her hair aside, he fought back his very male reaction and cleared his throat. The tremors working across her neck under his fingers didn't help.

"Your hair is blonde again. Looks better." His fingers twitched just so, and suddenly, he could see himself burying his hands in her hair and…

Taking a deep breath, Methos tried to shift his focus away from the warmth under his fingers.

"Figured somebody'd make a big deal if I showed up with a different color than I've always had." One bare shoulder rolled in a shrug as he fought the tiny clasp. "And I hated that dust bowl brown."

_So did I. _ "Hold still!" he chastised instead. She froze.

"And just how are you going to hide your armor under here? Or is it going to be in your coat? I know, MacLeod convinced you to not wear it so he could openly carry his sword! There!" He nearly hollered in triumph when the tiny clasp finally submitted and allowed itself to be fastened.

Entirely without guile, Amy answered his question in a way he never would have imagined. Before turning around, she pulled a shoulder strap off to the side to prove she had armor underneath there as well, exposing cleavage that the dress hadn't. Then to make matters worse, she put her hand to her hip and slightly pulled the skirt away from her backside enough to show the edge of her armor hiding underneath.

"It's designed to be reconfigured as I need."

Methos turned a startled exclamation into a cough as he centered the clasp on her neck. He moved her hair back in place and allowed his fingers to lightly trail down her shoulders for a moment. "If your goal is avoiding the ambassador's attention, you're going to fail miserably."

"What are you…? This is the only dress they had in my size that wasn't something a hooker would wear, what's wrong with it?" Panic was starting to set in once more as she spun around to stare at Methos.

"Other than you look female, for once? What's bitten you in the ass tonight, hmm?"

Amy suppressed the urge to punch him by putting her thumb and middle finger to the bridge of her nose and rubbing hard. She could not take a chance on tearing this dress. "I don't know. I keep telling myself, 'it's just a job, it's just a job.' But it's not working."

"Has it been that long since you've had to actually dance, not just throw yourself around inside a club?"

"I bet I can out-waltz you, old man!" Amy propped a fist on her hip with a familiar jut of her chin.

Methos laughed and raised his hands into position. "Don't challenge a man who was alive when the dance was invented!"

Amy hesitated, concerned about how much time remained before Mac would arrive.

Methos took it to mean she was conceding his challenge. "Afraid you'll lose?"

She took one swift step and settled between his arms, taking his left hand, and shivering slightly when his right came to rest lightly on her back. "I'm surprised you're not telling me you invented it yourself."

"As a matter of fact..." he laughed at the face Amy pulled and began leading her to a melody playing through his memory.

With her eyes fixed firmly on Methos' shirt buttons, she tried to push her anxiety to the side and willed her breathing to slow. Something about the warmth of his fingers on her skin and moving in the familiar pattern calmed Amy's mind. She was able to change her focus from the little details which had so frustrated her, to her tasks in the night ahead.

"Ready to give up and stay here yet?" Methos smiled at the top of Amy's head while gently pulling her closer.

"Tempting, but I do have a job to do and it's far more important than me not wanting to be there."

Methos could feel Amy's tension melting away under his fingers and was pleased. When she let her head rest against his chest and began to move with natural grace instead of mechanically, he smiled again and enjoyed it for a moment before guiding her into a spin to finish out their short waltz, holding her extended hand at shoulder height.

"Thank you, that seems to have..." For the first time since stepping out of her room, Amy stopped long enough to look directly into his eyes. "...done the trick," she trailed off.

Methos didn't bother masking the appreciation in his gaze. Amy didn't say a word, though the pink flush covering her face told him she understood.

Amy wasn't above admitting to herself that she really liked the spark in his eye and the way it made her feel. This was the first time that kind of attention had been directed at her, but there was no room in her life for for such distractions. Not now, and not for a very long time. Not with the family obligations that were going to come crashing down on her in the future - however long she could hold that off.

Methos stepped closer, still holding Amy's hand, and bent forward ever so slightly.

Closing her eyes, Amy avoided his gaze while trying to regather herself.

Methos smoothly stepped past, and pulled her wrap from the coat rack by the door. Playing the part of the gentleman for once, he settled it around her shoulders, saying, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Amy forced a laugh, thankful for a way to return to familiar footing. "Somehow, I think that particular list would be very, very short if you were honest." She smiled at the dip of his head. "You coming down or locking up for me?"

"MacLeod is picking you up here?" She nodded. "Then I'd prefer to stay up here until he's gone."

"Oh. Okay. See you tomorrow? We'll finish celebrating your project then?"

He smiled and dipped his head yet again, then Amy was out the door with one more look back over her shoulder.

* * *

**Next:** Sunday, Bloody Sunday


	11. Of Cold Wars and Warm Friends

**Of Cold Wars and Warm Friends**

* * *

About to ascend the front steps to Amy's building, Mac paused at the bottom, surprised by her appearance at the door.

"Good timing, Mac." She smiled while heading down to meet him.

"That anxious to get there?" He teased, remembering the complaining she had done when she had been begging him to be her escort.

"Perhaps that anxious to get it over with," she returned, accepting his hand down the last two steps and over to his car.

"I don't know why you think it'll be so horrible."

"Not my thing, Mac. Just not my kind of thing."

"Well, you look amazing. Maybe you should make it your thing."

Amy looked up at him sharply. She was used to Mac being gallant. It was so ingrained in his being, he couldn't be anything else. But with what had happened upstairs in the last fifteen minutes… It was difficult to not evaluate what Mac said a little differently.

Amy felt her nerves kick in once again because Mac stood there, looking at her like she was an actual date, not a friend in need of a favor and she was not prepared to deal with that again. Instead of climbing into his car, she threw her hands in the air and turned towards the building steps. "Okay, seriously, I can't… I can't do this."

In two quick strides Duncan blocked her path. "What is going on?"

"Mac, if I knew what was bugging me so bad I could deal with it and be done. In the meantime, I can not get mentally prepared for this and…"

"You've been to formal events before, what can possibly -"

"There is quite the difference between an exhibit opening with you and Tess and a grand ball at an embassy. I avoid these things for a reason, I don't want any of the attention that they generate, and I'm horribly out of practice!"

"Then why are you going?"

"Because I promised Dad, and I want to see my parents." She played with her necklace, trying to remind herself of the evening's goal. "And I have something I must absolutely positively deliver to Dad tonight."

"Sounds easy enough. He is your father."

"With a hundred cameras and two hundred guests and they can't see it happen."

Realizing her irrational anxiety was taking control again, Amy closed her eyes. In small steps, her feet moved through a pattern on the sidewalk until the panic passed and she could re-center herself. She pushed aside her Personal desires and ignored her discomfort. She had a purpose.

_Tonight is a job, no different from any other. You've never failed before and you won't now. Shut up and do your work._

Her typical front of confidence settled around her once again, and her eyes reopened with a look that was steady and calm, almost cold. Standing in a pool of light with her back to MacLeod, Amy looked up at her window, sure a certain Immortal was standing in the shadows, looking down. A smile for him alone lifted one corner of her mouth and with a wink at the window, she turned back to MacLeod. Shoulders straight and chin up, she ignored the puzzlement on Mac's face, accepted his hand, and eased into the passenger seat with a smile of amusement.

From above, Methos watched Amy meet MacLeod at the building steps, walk to his car, then turn to flee. He felt a part of himself take notice and, for a moment, he was pleased.

He wanted her to come back upstairs.

He wanted to dance more.

He wanted to explore just how similar they really were.

He needed her to go, as she had promised her father. He could feel a small, dark corner of his being reaching out, and it was dangerous. He ruthlessly tightened control of himself and muttered, "get back in the car."

Methos easily recognized her small movements as the steps of their waltz and smiled. He laughed when she raised her face towards her dark windows. Fifty feet down in the evening was too far to know for certain, but he could well imagine the impudent wink she had surely sent his way.

* * *

**The Russian Embassy**

From across the room, Amy zeroed in on a couple of average height. Nearly pulling Mac's shoulder out of joint, she dodged guests and waiters, slipping through the crowd far more easily than his large build allowed and dragging him in her wake. She slid in behind the couple, winked at a nearby bodyguard who smiled in return, and waited for a pause in conversation.

"Dad." She announced her presence with a hand on the elbow of his tux as she whispered towards his ear.

"Amy!" The gentleman turned and wrapped his girl in a bear hug before holding her at arm's length and examining her carefully. It wasn't a surprise anymore how little she changed from year to year, but it had been almost a year since the last time he got to hold her.

Studying her dad in return, Amy sadly noted how much more gray had appeared in his sandy hair, the deeper lines around his mouth, and a new sadness in the back of his eyes. She hated how his job aged him so quickly.

With one more smile, she let go of her dad's elbows and turned to the waiting woman. "Mother." They kissed each other on the cheek with a quick hug. Even her unflappable mother had changed in the last few years. Her jaw line was starting to soften and more gray peppered her dark hair, but her drive for perfection still showed in the details of her dress.

"Amy, I'm surprised you came! You've been playing recluse for so long." Her thin fingers reached out to fix a stray curl in Amy's hair before brushing imagined flakes off her shoulders.

"It's nice to see you, too, Mother." Amy turned away from her parents with a plastic grin glued to her face and gave Mac a look. With a small wave of her hand, she introduced them. "This is my friend, Duncan MacLeod. Duncan, my parents, Mr. Benjamin and Adrienne Allan."

Duncan MacLeod swallowed his surprise as he shook hands with Benjamin and then bent low over Adrienne's hand to kiss it. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"It's all ours, I'm sure." Mrs. Allan returned. "Amy never lets us meet her friends. It's a relief to know she has some."

Surprised by her snobbery, Duncan glanced at Amy to see the plastic smile firmly in place, and wondered if her mother realized how fake it was.

"Listen, Dad, I'm sure you still have rounds to make and I see some old friends I didn't expect. Save a dance for me?"

"Of course, honey." Mr. Allan whispered and squeezed her hand before turning to speak to the next dignitary in line to see him.

Mrs. Allan smoothed her own hair before running her hand over Amy's braids. She gave her daughter a smile and squeezed her arm gently. The moment was ruined when she leaned to whisper, "You could at least try to enjoy yourself, talk with the guests, you might be surprised…"

"I promise I will, Mother, I just haven't seen my friends since the youth symphony." Gritting her teeth, Amy took Duncan's arm and almost violently pulled him towards the dance floor. "Not one word, Mac."

"_They're_ your parents?"

"Yeah, _they_ are. And not another word. Not now, not later, not to another living soul so long as you live." Her piercing gaze drove the seriousness of her request home, and he nodded with a reassuring smile.

"Friends?" He changed topics smoothly. "Why didn't you expect friends to be here?"

"Because they're the musicians. The guests? Ugh."

Duncan stayed by Amy's side while she waited for an opportunity to re-approach her father. They stood where she wished and they danced when she wanted to, though it was clear to MacLeod that her mind was otherwise occupied. Like him, she also carefully evaluated exits and security guards. More carefully than Duncan, Amy was watching security cameras as well as the comings and goings of the Russian staff. She slipped away once - to 'freshen up' - and returned to find him dutifully waiting.

After an hour, she pulled on his sleeve. "Alright, Mac. This is one reason you're here. I need to dance and talk with Dad for a bit. Will you keep Mother occupied, please?"

"How long do you need?"

"At least one full song. And the box I asked you to carry, I need that. Thanks."

Amy and MacLeod walked through the crowd, together this time, and stood at the edge of the dance floor, waiting for the song to end.

Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod performed beautifully. He politely stepped up to Mr. and Mrs. Allan and requested a dance with Adrienne before she could start another with her husband. Amy followed closely, not giving any of the other women a chance to approach Mr. Allan themselves.

"Hey, Dad." she stepped up as soon as Mac had taken her mother out of ear shot.

"There you are! I was starting to wonder if you had slipped away early." Mr. Allan reached for Amy's hands.

"Not without my dance." She smiled up at him, but didn't take his hand just yet. "Dad, I know it's terribly early, but I brought your birthday present." She revealed a small wrapped box in her hand, retrieved from MacLeod's pocket just before he began dancing with Mrs. Allan.

"Thank you, sweetheart, I didn't bring yours, I hoped…"

"Two years, Dad. Two more years and I will come home for every holiday plus a few we'll invent." She smiled at her father warmly. She did miss her family since running away, but she had made the right choice. Away from reporters, body guards, and the insanity of a political life, she had been free to forge her path - and to learn her heritage - without undue attention.

Mr. Allan absent mindedly tucked the bit of wrapping paper in his jacket pocket before opening the box. Amy watched his smile with pleasure as he pulled out the sapphire and diamond cufflinks and admired them.

"Do you want me to wear them tonight?"

"Would you? Here, I'll help." Amy waited as he removed the cufflinks on his sleeves. She placed the new set, then held out the empty box so he could drop in the original pair. "Perfect for you, Dad. They match your eyes."

Mr. Allan hugged her more tightly than before. "Thank you, Princess. I'll be sure to point that out when I show them off."

"Dad!"

He laughed and it thrilled Amy's heart to hear it. Benjamin Allan had a very distinctive laugh - when it was genuine. Politics had taught him to keep a carefully guarded exterior, and she was always happy when he allowed it to drop and authenticity returned to his eyes and voice, and most especially his laugh.

It seemed like he had stopped laughing when they moved away from Louisiana. He hadn't, but the ringing laugh from his heart had been used much less often in the ensuing years. Even phone calls full of jokes hadn't been able to elicit the comforting sound.

Ready to get out on the dance floor with her father, Amy lifted her hands and tipped her head. "Ready?"

They blended in with the crowd and moved in time with the music. Adrienne Allan would have been quite pleased at how well Amy learned some of her lessons, if she had been watching.

"You have grown up quite nicely, Amy."

"You and Mother set me on the right path, Dad."

"Speaking of parents, have you been over to see your mom and da'?"

"No, it hasn't worked out. Maybe in the next trip…"

"Amy, all the time you've spent in Paris recently, and you haven't made one day trip to see your parents?"

She looked at him askance. "You're not supposed to be checking up on me."

"Do you really think Mike wouldn't tell me what you're up to?"

Amy smiled and lay her head against his chest, conveniently hiding her mouth from the security cameras ringing the ballroom. She dropped her voice and switched to the mix of English and Cajun French her mother's family used, to make it more difficult for passers-by to understand. "Is Sensei here tonight?"

"No, he's at the hotel."

"Good enough. I need you to make sure he sees your cufflinks."

"What?"

"It's vital, Dad."

"Of course I will, but don't you want to…"

"No, it will be noticed if I were talking to your bodyguards. Just make sure he gets a real good look. He'll understand why." She hugged her dad tightly. "At least he can do what I can't."

"What's going on, Amy?"

"If I suddenly start trying to protect them… I won't be able to reach them all before the others would get killed. I can't do it, but Mike can get it started."

"Is this related to your… previous employment?"

"Yes."

With a nod, Mr. Allan rubbed his daughter's back and kept dancing. When the music ended, he smiled down at Amy and asked, "One more time?"

She took a step back and smiled. "Of course!"

Passing the musicians, Amy couldn't resist a wistful look which her dad noticed. "Are you still playing?"

"Sometimes. I keep a violin with me when I travel."

"I don't know that I'll ever understand why you decided to skip Juilliard."

Lost in watching the musicians for a moment, Amy barely caught what Mr. Allan said and responded without thinking. "I didn't skip! I was told I couldn't because -" She caught herself quickly.

"Couldn't? Your mother told me you changed your mind."

"Well, she's right, of course, Dad. I just misunderstood you for a minute." Amy carefully met his eyes and smiled reassurance while tugging on his hand to shift attention back to the dance. "C'mon, get back on the beat, Dad. I keep missing Alex when I call. What's he up to?"

Amy successfully kept their conversation light for the remainder of the song, focusing it on her brother, Alex, and his wife, living near Houston, Texas. A small corner of her mind kept chewing on what her father had said. It had been so long, she really should just let it go, but at the same time it was troubling.

When her parents moved from Louisiana to Washington, D.C., Adrienne Allan had told Amy that she could not possibly go off to Juilliard as had been planned because their new security arrangements wouldn't allow for it. But her father believed Amy had chosen to give up, because his wife had told him so. It was strange, and just puzzling enough to make her brain work on it. But if she allowed it to distract her tonight, there were going to be some serious consequences.

She set the question to a corner of her mind to be dealt with later. When she wasn't working, wasn't dealing with a friend dying from cancer, wasn't worried about shirking her duties at home, and so on and so on… This little detail was hardly that high of a priority.

The musicians brought the song to a close, Amy curtsied to her father and grinned at his gracious bow.

Grabbing a quick, last hug, Amy whispered in his ear, "Love you, dad. I'll see you as soon as I can."

Benjamin Allan responded by squeezing her more tightly. "I wish you would stay longer."

"I am. I want to make sure I get to say a proper good-bye, just in case."

Mr. Allan hid his own mouth from the security cameras. "What are you up to, Amy?"

"Nothing," she smiled at her father's snort. "Nothing at all."

The rest of the evening progressed smoothly, with Duncan keeping Amy too occupied to dance with anyone else. On occasion she pointed him at a few of the wives and recommended he dance with them, excusing herself from dancing with their husbands by needing to 'powder her nose' and slipping away to another part of the room, sometimes the bathroom, and once to the upper floors where private offices and bedrooms would be found.

Smiling from a corner of the ball room, Amy was pleased to see her plan working exactly as she intended. By being his charming, debonair self, Duncan MacLeod had the attention of the guests as he danced with one woman after another. Somehow, he kept the men from being jealous as he returned their dates to them with a gracious bow and a quietly spoken compliment.

Attention given to Duncan MacLeod was attention not paid to the short young woman in a dark plum dress. She had chosen the lovely color to help her fade into the shadows and slip upstairs in a series of carefully timed moves which kept her out of sight of the security cameras as well.

Forty minutes.

Forty minutes had been all that was required to slip through the upstairs rooms, and her job was completed.

It seemed like far too long for one person to vanish from the security cameras, but Amy was more willing to take the chance on one long, unnoticed disappearance. She had decided that between having to avoid rotating cameras and live guards, the odds were less in her favor if she were going up and down the stairs several times in one night.

Forty minutes.

No alarms were sounding. No security personnel seemed to be on alert. She knew she hadn't been seen. Apparently, she hadn't been missed, either.

After making sure she appeared to emerge from the women's bathroom, she stood at the edge of the dance floor once more. Amy watched MacLeod lead his latest partner around the floor in quite a display of skill.

Amy smiled. Both her self-assigned task and her job were complete, and she had time left over. Her feet felt a need to dance in victory, and she had the best dancer in the room for her escort.

* * *

**Next:** Leaving So Soon


	12. We'll Always Have Paris

**A/N**: I still don't own anything related to Highlander, nor will I try to claim them. Amy and assorted minor characters not from the tv show are entirely my own creations. Thank you to all of you for your continued reading, following, favoriting, etc. Thank you so much to FanLass for her encouragement and picking my stories apart. It's been wonderful to have her arguing at me, and much better than it was when I was writing with no immediate feedback. :)

And speaking of feedback… PLEASE drop a review, even if it's to tell me what you don't like. It's the only way to keep growing!

* * *

**We'll Always Have Paris**

* * *

Amy was moving slower than usual when morning broke. The ball had resulted in a late but successful evening, and she was pleased. Her father was not her first choice for a courier, but the delivery had been made, the bugs she had been begged to plant were in place, and she had even been able to let go, enjoy herself, and dance with MacLeod and her dad twice each.

Now faced with the morning's aftermath piled on top of the past week's stress, her get up and go had got up and went. Thank goodness she had finally bought an automatic coffee maker for the apartment. By seven a.m. the smell beckoned Amy from her under covers. She dragged herself out of bed and grimaced at the dark circles under her eyes. The main bright spot to the morning was knowing that whenever Methos came by they could just hang out with no specific plans.

No plans, no jobs, nobody to avoid, and Amy desperately needed the down time. The past month had been an emotional roller coaster, and the last week - starting with stealing from Paulson - had taken a physical toll. If she could have one day to recharge she would be the better for it.

In anticipation of moving back to the States, Amy had spent the last four days finishing up contracts and typing reports. It had meant getting no more than two or three hours of sleep each day, usually in the middle of the afternoon, but it was worth it to have all her jobs wrapped up so she wouldn't have to travel any more than was absolutely necessary. The only thing left to do was emptying her fridge and freezer and giving the contents to her neighbors. Once the food was delivered and she had a chance to collect a hug from each of the children, she would be ready to leave France with only minor regrets.

When Methos did arrive around ten, he found a note taped to Amy's door, directing him downstairs to Madame Martin's apartment. Knocking on the old woman's door, he gained entry after greeting her in French.

"Bonjour, Madame. Aimée said I would find her here?"

Madame Martin put a finger to her lips and motioned Methos in, leading him through her front room. By the grin on her face, he knew something was up and followed her to the next room without making a sound.

"Madame Martin," Amy started scolding when she heard her neighbor enter the bedroom. Balancing on a rather worn-looking chair, she stood on tiptoes reaching as far as she could with a feather duster to clean the widow's ceiling fan. "Why didn't you call me for help any sooner? Your fan and the corners are in a state."

"I know, Aimée, but I don't like to bother you for something so silly."

Methos finally spoke. "No, Madame, you should always bother her for silly things. This is priceless."

Amy tried to spin on the wobbly chair, barely recovering her balance as it tilted under her feet. "Adam Pierson, you're evil!"

"You told me to come down here!" He laughed.

"Monsieur Pierson, did you know Aimée is leaving us again?"

"I had my suspicions, Madame Martin."

"Bah. As if Canada has anything Paris does not! I think she should make her family move here, to our fair city!"

Amy chuckled while climbing off of the chair. "I told Madame I have to go home to make sure my brothers are behaving themselves."

"You are undoubtedly right, Madame Martin." Methos smiled at Amy's eye rolling as she returned the old chair to the front room and tucked it under the writing desk. "She leaves Paris far too often for her own good. One day, she's going to remember she's Canadian, and we may never get her back!"

Madame Martin laughed at Methos as she returned to the front room. The old woman knew Amy had a friend dying of cancer, and her heart hurt for her neighbor. Amy was far too young to have lost many friends, where she herself had lost many during The War, and many more seemed to go with each passing day. She was used to the loss, now. She prayed this death would not damage Amy's spirit too much, and that she would find her way back to the small apartment in Paris.

Methos waited by the door, after giving the widow a polite kiss on her cheek in farewell. Amy returned the feather duster to its place and washed her hands in the kitchen sink before giving Madame Martin a hug.

"I promise, you'll be the first person I see the next time I get back. Besides, I'm sure you won't be too lonely with Monsieur Pierson here to bring you flowers. Make him do your dishes the next time he brings you roses!" Amy grinned at Methos and smacked him on the chest as she walked past him and out the door.

Adam Pierson gave Madame Martin his most winning smile and with a quiet, "I'll be by the day tomorrow," he shut the door and followed Amy upstairs.

Methos leaned against the front door frame, watching her grab a light jacket and drop her duffle bag in the middle of floor, next to two other bags. "Canada? You really told Madame Martin you're from Canada?"

"No, she met Paul first and, unfortunately, his French accent is so bad, she made the assumption that we're Canadian. I have no reason to correct her, so why should I?"

"Lying to the neighbors," he sighed, hiding a smile. "What's next?"

Amy smiled while wagging a finger at Methos. "Don't even pretend you're innocent. I know you brought Madame Martin flowers to make it easier to pump her for information!" She laughed at his shrug. "So, you bring the wine? How are we celebrating your completed project?"

Her bags were packed, the apartment was ready to close, and she was more than ready to go. However, she had seen the disappointment on Methos' face when she said she couldn't stay in last night, and she felt badly about it. More, she was afraid that something in their friendship may have changed, and she wanted to be sure it had regained its equilibrium.

"I have the wine, and I even have a light lunch. I thought you'd enjoy a picnic in the sun since the weather is good today. Bring your violin."

Amy shrugged into her jacket, and gestured for Methos to lead the way as she grabbed her violin and locked the apartment door. She'd come back for her bags in a little while.

* * *

In the park where Methos had decided they should have their picnic, they sat on a thin blanket and ate together, finishing the bottle of wine he had bought for the previous night.

Amy had positioned herself carefully, keeping the shopping bag and food between them as they arranged themselves in the grass and prepared to eat. Methos noticed, and as they ate and talked, he moved things around until nothing but the empty shopping bag and the bottle of merlot remained between them.

"So what, exactly, are your plans?"

Amy turned her face to the sun while answering. "Get back to the States, obviously. I don't want to be away any more than I have to be now, not for the next year or so. And I haven't been home to do my share of the work around our ranch, so -"

"Ranch?"

"Oh, the guys and I. We have property where we live, train, whatever. I haven't been home to do my share in quite a while. The guys have been great about not getting onto me about it, but I need to get back."

"Do you have time to play?"

"What?"

"To play. Your violin. Just a couple songs."

Even though Amy had expected a request, she was still surprised. Adam Pierson liked Euro-Pop, not classical music, yet he was asking her to play for him. She pulled her case around and opened it carefully, pulling out a violin that gleamed with rich golden highlights.

"That's not the same violin you had before."

Amy pulled out the bow, quickly tuning the instrument while she spoke. "No. I left it at home, where it would be safe. This one was bought after I bro… after my first full-size was damaged irreparably. This is the one that always travels with me."

She lifted the bow again and began to play, nothing more than a few random notes and chords while she let a corner of her mind search for a piece to play.

Methos leaned back on his hands, closing his eyes, allowing Amy time to become lost in the music before he took the opportunity to study her.

Still deciding what to play, Amy's gaze drifted to the Immortal's face and her fingers began to describe him through the notes she chose, high and low. She played softly, an intimate musical portrait she hadn't meant to create. Methos' voice pulled her back to reality with a jump that sent her bow skittering across the strings with a strident noise.

"That was beautiful." He smiled at her discomfort. Meaning to examine her as she played, he had opened his eyes to see Amy staring in his direction. "Does it have a name?"

"A name?"

"Yes, a name. You know, so it can be remembered later?"

"No… no name. Just...notes." She ducked her head, carefully inspecting the edges of her instrument rather than meeting his eyes.

The notes had painted colors around him again, in the ribbons and lines that crossed her vision only when music played. She had varied pitch and tempo, painting a picture around Methos and the park that only she could see, and she'd been caught at it. Amy flushed in embarrassment, unable to bring herself to explain.

"You should name it."

"I don't know what it is yet. It's…unfinished and too unknown."

"Why?" He challenged, much closer than a moment before.

Amy glanced up, realizing nothing was between them anymore and she wondered if they were still talking about music.

Methos continued, "take a risk, learn the unknown."

Her eyes flicked to his face then out to the park beyond where they sat. "And if the reward isn't worth it?"

Leaning closer, Methos made sure her eyes met his before he answered. "Then there was no risk involved."

Amy realized music had never been the topic. The gleam in Methos' eye was more intense than she had seen last night, and he was much, much closer now. Her breath caught, her heart thudded against her ribs, and she froze.

At the last moment, she let fear pull her back. Lifting the violin between them, Amy turned to stare out over the park, and began to play once more.

She played the joy of the young children, out with their mothers, chasing each other across the grass. She played the calm of the old couple strolling together down the path, and she played the resolution she had to keep her plans. She played her loyalty to friends and family above all else.

She played for several minutes, and Methos didn't interrupt. He moved away - just a little - so she would relax when she turned back to him.

She stopped again, as he knew she must. She sat with the violin on her lap, staring across the park, refusing to turn or speak just yet. Methos remained silent, also.

With a deep breath, Amy finally turned around. "You're asking me to take a risk that I can't…"

A seductive smile played across his lips and invitation gleamed in his eyes. "But the reward…"

"Can't be allowed to matter." Amy interrupted. She couldn't hold his gaze. "I can not let -"

"Let?"

"Yes, let." She forced herself to look at him, trying to reinforce the impossibility with a look. "I can't start down a path that will never end well - even if sacrifices are made, that I am not able to make, despite what I may desire!" Realizing what words left her mouth, Amy's eyes widened. She had said too much.

"Desire?" Methos questioned with a twist of his lip and a knowing lift of his eyebrow.

She dropped her eyes again and ducked her head, taking refuge behind irritation. "Stop it, Adam."

"Stop what? Poking holes in this cozy little wall you've built around yourself? Stop giving you nowhere to hide?"

Methos slid forward slightly and reached out to gently cup Amy's face in his hands. He lifted her chin and waited until her eyes lifted. Eyes that held a century's worth of living and dying, joy and loss, and shouldn't have at such a young age. Eyes trying to hide both desire and fear. Under his fingers, he felt the steady throb of her pulse change to a racing flutter. The rise and fall of her chest quickened, and she couldn't look away as time seemed to stop flowing around them.

He bent his head and quiet Adam Pierson was no longer looking at her. Methos had Amy's eyes locked, the power behind his gaze beckoning, willing her to take that small step and join him.

She forced her eyes closed, gripped her violin more tightly and cried out. "I can't!" Amy clenched her jaw to regain control before trying to explain. "Desire and duty are not compatible, and duty must, in the end, win."

"Duty be damned, you're scared!"

"Yes I am!" She pulled away and scooted across the grass until he couldn't reach her. "Do you realize how many friends I have that know what I am? Outside of my brothers, and including you? Four. No, two." She immediately self-corrected. "Two were murdered. I treasure those friendships above all else, and I'm not willing to risk losing it. Especially for a... temporary reward."

"You -"

"My friends know I will give everything I have for them. But please, please don't ask me for the one thing I am not capable of giving."

They stared at each other for a moment before Amy had to break eye contact. She ran her fingers around the edges of the violin, wishing their brunch - or at least their conversation - could start over.

Methos asked softly, "Amy, will you marry out of duty?"

She looked at Methos from under her bangs, her walls back in place, and her voice was cold. "If I would marry for duty, then I would already be married and living in the land of my birth."

Methos gave up with a heavy sigh and pulled the shopping bag around. He picked up the few remains of their meal while Amy carefully packed her violin away, unsure if she should say anything else.

She remained silent, carefully repressing what she felt, knowing it was a worthless dream. When Methos chuckled slightly while picking up the empty wine bottle, she looked up suspiciously.

"What?"

"Just realizing I already got what I want," he grinned. Teasing was the easiest way to reassure Amy they could continue in the same relationship they already had. "I've already seen you naked!"

She stared at him for a moment, flabbergasted, then smiled broadly, seeing the twinkle in his eyes. She was happy for the affirmation they would return to what had been before. With a laugh, she countered, "Paul did tell me you got quite the view of my backside before we were even introduced."

Methos shrugged unapologetically. "You invade my bed with no warning, I can't be held responsible for your actions. And -"

He stopped with a laugh when a well-aimed resin bag smacked him in the chest. He tossed it back, stood, and offered a hand to Amy after she shut her violin case. Pulling on his gray trench coat, he escorted her back to the apartment, then on to the airport by way of the the Metro.

Methos even sat with Amy at the gate, goading her into conversation and debate over everything and nothing for the hour they waited.

When the second boarding call came, Amy seemed to make an impromptu decision. She quickly opened her violin case and then a tiny compartment specifically added so many years before to carry small, easily over-looked cargo. From this, she drew four tiny stones, each bearing a different mark.

"If for no other reason," she asked while dropping them into Methos' hands, "will you call if you figure out what these are supposed to mean?"

Methos moved the small stones around on his palm, naming each as he touched it. "Power, protection, heritage, joy. I don't understand."

"I know what they say, but I've never understood them either. I hope maybe you will. I'll get them from you the next time I come back." She refused Methos' attempt to return the stones and closed her violin case once more.

When the final boarding call came, Amy stood and picked up her bags. Before heading to the ramp, she paused and looked up at Methos.

"I meant it when I said my friends can ask for anything. If you need me, I'll either be at our ranch, or at Joe's. Just call."

He smiled down at her gently. "You focus on spending time all the time you can with your friend. I'll be just fine here. Alone. Nobody to cook for me…"

"Well, quit avoiding Mac, and you won't be lonely anymore! He seems to enjoy cooking for some reason. I'll be in touch, Old Man." With a grin, she turned and handed her ticket and boarding pass to the attendant. Once allowed past, she started down the jetway with a final look and wave at Methos.

* * *

**Epilogue**

When Amy said she was willing to give everything she had for her friends, she meant it. Therefore, when she happened to be sitting in Joe's bar two weeks later when he received two disturbing phone calls in the space of twenty minutes, Amy didn't stop to think. Both calls came in at the end of the lunch rush, and before the after work crowd began to fill the bar, Amy and Joe were on a plane together, heading to Paris and more trouble than either could begin to imagine.

* * *

**Next:** Sunday, Bloody Sunday


End file.
